Fool if you think it's over
by enahma
Summary: Harry flees to the muggle world. The war is not over, so Snape is sent after him. It's a non-slash story of love, hatred, fear, pain and betrayal. Can there be a happy ending? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, I don't make money of them either.

This is the first chapter of an almost 30000 words long story in ten chapters. In spite of my previous decision (you know, that one about quitting fanfiction writing ;-D) here it is, and please, try to enjoy it.

It's not the usual story of mine, because the main characters are adults. I hope you'll like it though.

I rated it PG-13 just to remain in the safe side, though I don't think it's more than a simple PG.

I uploaded another new story, its title is: **The cupboard**. Nice, long one-shot, and just a little bit angsty.

I hope you won't be disappointed.

Betaed by Barbara (as always) – many thanks for her wonderful work!

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**Fool (if you think it's over)**

by Enahma

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Written for the HP_SS_Gen_Fest challenge 36: An emotionally damaged Harry flees to the Muggle world after years of fighting. The war is not over though so someone needs to bring him back. The only person available is Snape, who could care less about the mental well-being of his former student. Will this change though when he sees what the expectations of the wizarding world has done to the young wizard?

Warning: post OotP, spoilers ahead!

Pairing: you'll see

Rated: PG(-13?)

Category: Drama/Angst

Betaed by Barbara

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Fool if you think it's over  
Because you said goodbye  
Fool if you think it's over – I'll tell you why  
New born eyes always cry with pain  
At the first look of the morning sun  
You're a fool if you think it's over  
It's just begun  
(Chris Rea – Fool)

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Chapter 1.

Harry lifted his teacup to his mouth while he stood next to the window and stared out to the Sydney night. The tea tasted bitter, the night was dark and cold, and he was tired to his bones. He was working in the reptile house of the zoo, and they had been cleaning the terrariums for days, which was quite exerting work. Generally, his colleagues left it to him to transport the reptiles from one place to another, and there were some very big snakes, which were too lazy to move, so that Harry had had to carry them.

But he wasn't annoyed with his co-workers: exhaustion was the perfect way to fall asleep fast without lingering in the past thinking about Ron, Luna, Lupin and Hermione, who…

No. That was finished. With a soft cling Harry put his cup down and retreated from the window. It was time for bed. He stepped into the small kitchen and with some quick movements washed the cup up and put it on the tray. He loved order around him, many times he simply felt that without the external order, the remainders of his internal discipline would push him into madness all too soon. And even if he didn't want to live that much, becoming a fool wasn't too enticing an alternative. He remembered pretty well Neville's parents, but he wouldn't even have anybody to visit…

After the quick shower he put on a bathrobe and sat on his favourite armchair for a quick read: he leafed through the local newspaper (the usual May dullness, nothing else), and reached for his book to read it, when somebody knocked on his door.

Harry's hand froze in mid-air. It was half past ten, not the most usual time for social calls. And about other calls – after short consideration, Harry refused the idea. Here, he had no acquaintances, except for his colleagues and some neighbours, which meant that most probably somebody from the neighbourhood had some urgent problems to talk about. But he didn't want to talk, so he didn't move. The knocking, however, didn't cease, and Harry could hear somebody swearing quietly in front of his door. He smirked. How impatient the man was! With a slight groan he stood up and was about to walk to the door and open it, when he heard a soft, muttered '_Alohomora_' and the door opened up.

The next moment he was lying on his stomach behind the sofa cursing himself violently for abandoning his own wand when he finally decided to leave the wizarding world behind and live a normal, muggle life like anybody else, like the Dursleys: a normal life without crazy dark lords and even more crazy light leaders like Dumbledore, an absolutely average life with working and sleeping and, perhaps later, marrying and having kids – and Dumbledore could do to Voldemort whatever he wanted. He didn't care anymore. It wasn't his war anymore.

There were no people remaining for him to fight for. After all those deaths, Harry had felt that love had dissipated from his heart, and he had known precisely that love was the only thing that made him stronger than the dark monster had ever been.

But he couldn't love anymore, so he had fled, and now, was lying on his belly, thoughts racing in his mind.

"Potter," an annoyed voice sounded in the room's silence, and Harry almost blacked out.

His late guest was his good, old Potions instructor, the only one of his former professors Harry hated with an unbelievably unwavering passion.

Not to mention that the last time they had been closer than four feet from each other, Harry had finally repaid some of his cruelty to the big-headed Slytherin: it had happened the day after their graduation. Harry, without any further ado, had stepped up to the dark man (who wasn't taller than him anymore) and punched him on his nose with a joyful glee on his own face. The nose had broken with a nauseating crack, but Harry hadn't cared. After seven years of continuous tormenting, ridiculing, harassing, humiliating, belittling he just couldn't help it. And it hadn't been only for himself. It had been for everybody Harry loved and the git despised: for Ron, who couldn't become an Auror, because of the missing Potions NEWT (perhaps if he had become one, he would have been… stop, stop, he had to stop thinking of those would-have-been things, the past was the past, and nothing could be changed), and he had given that blow for Hermione too, who had been the very best in that class, but she had always been met with contemptuous words and scathing remarks instead of the needed support and approval she was always longing for – and Snape had spoken ill about her even after she… no. That was another forbidden topic.

Since that day, Dumbledore had been very cautious to talk to them separately, and during the Order meetings they had been placed as far away from each other as it could be physically possible. Not to mention that the last time Harry had met his ex-Headmaster and the Order had been more than eleven months ago.

"Potter, come out! I know you're here!" Snape barked, and Harry surrendered. When he stood up, he found his ex-instructor standing in the centre of the room, wand in hand, with the usual hairstyle and expression – only one thing was definitely different: the clothes. Snape wore muggle clothes: jeans, t-shirt and sweatshirt, like an average muggle.

"I didn't know in the circles of pureblood families you can just enter one's house without being allowed in," Harry sneered and rearranged his bathrobe. "And considering the fact that I, most definitely, don't want you to be in my house, you can leave. Immediately, if you'd be so generous…" he waved towards the door.

Snape smirked and lifted his wand, which was in his hand and pointed at Harry, with a sadistic merriment in his eyes.

"Oh, no, Potter…"

Harry didn't even flinch, just crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the other man despising.

"If you don't want me to call the police, Snape, you'd better go."

Snape quirked an eyebrow.

"Police, Potter? What about your wand?" he stepped closer.

"I don't have my wand, as you surely know. I left it behind with Dumbledore. Now, go."

"No," Snape lifted his wand and tapped his chin in thought. "It's a beautiful chance to repay some… things, Potter."

"Repay," Harry spat the words and turned around. "It's still me who has something to repay, not you, git."

The next moment he fell after Snape muttered 'Impedimenta', knocking the floor lamp over in his fall. "You won't escape this time, Potter. Here there is no Dumbledore to protect you…"

Harry turned to his back, still lying.

"Kill me, Snape. Believe me, it will be the first generous deed in your cursed life."

"Showing off, Potter?" Snape scowled, although Harry was sure his ex-teacher intended his expression to be a smirk. "Such big words: 'generous deed', indeed… No, I will not kill you, for some reason Dumbledore wants you alive, but having some fun…"

He didn't elaborate, what he meant by fun, but Harry wasn't curious about it either. Just shrugged, not even trying to stand up.

"Get over with it, then. After you finish, you can leave, greet Dumbledore in my name, and tell him to fight his war without me, I'm not interested."

Apparently, having fun with an unresisting adversary wasn't interesting enough for Snape, because he lowered his wand.

"I will bring you back whatever you say, Potter. The Headmaster's order was clear. He wants you back."

"And I don't want to go back. Go on, Snape, cast those curses on me and leave my house. You can even kill me, if you want. At least, Dumbledore will have the chance to find another saviour to sacrifice."

"How dare you talk about him in such a way?" Snape leaned to his face and hissed angrily.

"Come on, Snivellus. Kill me, don't hesitate. You can finally take revenge for the things my father did to you more than twenty-five years ago…" A strong slap on his face silenced Harry.

"Don't dare call me that name again!"

Harry licked the blood from his lips and grinned.

"Come on, Snivellus. You can do better than that. I will not tell Dumbledore, be assured." Another blow. "I hope you washed that filthy hand of yours before, Snivelly. I don't want it to cause contamination…"

The next moment Snape grabbed his bathrobe and practically threw Harry into his chair.

"Finite Incantatem," he said stopping the still effective Impedimenta. "Go, put on some clothes. We are going back. Now."

Harry stretched himself slowly, luxuriously.

"No, Snape. I've already told you. I won't go back. Bye. The door is that way," he gestured towards the door. "Hope you're satisfied now. G'night."

The next moment Snape's hand was strangling him, and the older man's face lingered almost impossibly close to Harry's face. "Oh, no, Mr Potter. You will come with me," he hissed maliciously.

"I told you that you can kill me, Snape," Harry had to press the words out through his suddenly too narrow throat. "But I will never return. If Voldemort wants something from me, he can come here, I'm here, waiting for him, or if he decides not to come, I have a life to live." With an angry shift, he freed his neck from the other man's grasp, and massaged the bruises left behind. "I don't mind how many so-called prophecies are about me, my life, my relatives, dogs, cats, flowers, whatever… I will remain here and I will enjoy the life I chose for myself not famous leaders and half-wit old bats…"

"The Dark Lord killed…!" Snape bellowed irately, but he couldn't finish.

"I KNOW THAT!" Harry bellowed, but hastily added, "I'm perfectly aware of that, thank you," Harry's response was icy. "But my death won't bring them back."

"But…" Snape opened his mouth for a retort, but Harry didn't let him speak.

"You saw what happened in my sixth year when I wanted to take revenge for Sirius's death! I almost fell to the dark side! By the end of that year, I didn't even need Dumbledore to explain to me that revenge can't be my driving motivation if I don't want to become somebody like Tom Riddle!" Harry yelled and jumped to his feet, and this time it was he, who leaned close to Snape. "Or somebody like you, Snape! And now, go or I will break that crooked nose of yours once again!"

Harry's outburst first surprised the dark man, but he soon regained his composure, his face was blank, just the eyes glittering with the usual hatred.

"Playing the drama queen, are we, Potter?"

But Harry wasn't the easily irritable teenager he had been years ago. He was a twenty-two year old man, a war veteran with quite a lot of experience under his belt. He didn't become angry, or even irritated, just slightly amused as he smirked.

"I don't know which part of my speech was hard to understand, Snape. I'm burned out. I'm not able to feel fondness any more. And I don't want to become a murderer. I want to live my life, that's all. You can go."

For the first time in that evening, Snape seemed clueless about what to do.

"You know Potter that the prophecy states clearly that you're the one supposed to kill him," he shushed through his clenched teeth. Harry gave a short and bitter laugh.

"The Golden Boy, you wanted to say?" he asked mockingly.

"Don't change my words, Potter!"

"Go to hell, Snape!"

"Your decision will kill the wizarding world!"

"I will send money for the funeral fees then. Why should I care? I hadn't received anything from your world! Save it, if you want to, but I am fed up! I quit, my decision was final. I will never come back. And even if you bring me back by resorting to violence, it will solve nothing. I won't fight. I won't die for you. Choose another fool to crucify! I'm just a man!" With that, he whirled around and marched to his bedroom. From the bed, he yelled out once more. "Don't forget to lock the door behind you!"

Snape, apparently, wasn't in an understanding mood, because the next moment Harry's entire bedding disappeared into thin air, and he remained lying there without the necessary blanket, sheet and pillow. After a short moment of thought, he sighed and lay on the floor. Certainly, Snape couldn't just make the floor disappear!

No, he couldn't, but its temperature seemed freezing and Harry, if he didn't want to acquire a case of full-fledged pneumonia, had to stand up.

"All right, you win," he muttered angrily. "You can spend the night here, and you can torment me again in the morning, just give me back my bedding. I will even give you clean bedding and you can sleep on my sofa, you can use my bathroom and drink my tea, just let me have some rest for now."

"I'm not sleepy, Potter."

"I don't care, Snape. This is my final offer. Oh, or you can leave, of course, as another option!"

Harry went to the cupboard, fished out some bedding and a towel and threw them at Snape. "Here you are. You can choose a book from my shelf if you're that bored." With a short tug, he removed the wand from Snape's hand, who was carrying his bedding a little dazed, and with a shove, he pushed the man out of his door. The next moment, he cast a locking spell on the door, then a silencing charm, and finally, he restored his bedding and went to bed.

Tomorrow. He would concentrate on Snape's business tomorrow. For now, the only thing he wanted was to sleep.

After Potter threw him out of his bedroom, Snape stood on the same spot for a while.

The whole situation confused him. Something just was… strange. Potter wasn't his old self, but something different. No, not better, but most definitely different. He didn't even try to attack him, to hit him or to curse him after he had stolen his wand – he had just closed the door and gone to sleep.

And without his wand, Snape didn't have a clue what to do next. So, he sighed and surrendered. He would spend the night in Potter's disgustingly muggle flat, and the next morning he would bring the brat back to Hogwarts. Potter had better defeat the Dark Lord, because he couldn't move as freely in his own country as he wanted since last July, when the Dark Lord had suddenly begun to question his true loyalties absolutely unexpectedly. He barely survived that day, he had had to use the emergency Portkey from Dumbledore in the end, confirming his ex-master's suspicions of him. Since then, his ex-colleagues had been breathing on his neck trying to catch him and bring his head on a silver plate to their irate master.

That was the main reason Dumbledore had come up with the ridiculous idea that he had to find the missing Potter. They had known that the brat had left for America after his rushed decision to quit, but there, he had lost the trace, and it had taken almost ten months for Snape to say for sure that Potter hadn't been there.

And here, in Australia, he had found him in one month. He was quite proud of himself.

Now, Potter was found, but he was standing like a fool, wandless, in his sitting room preparing to bed down on his sofa.

He would kill the brat that was sure. That whole speech about not being able to love and that wallowing, how typically Potter-ish it had been!

And then again… something was amiss. Potter hadn't behaved in his usual manner.

Codswallop! Why should he care? Tomorrow, he would hand Potter over to Dumbledore, and that was it. Then the Headmaster could cure his favourite pawn's psychological problems just as he wanted to.

Relieved of this decision, Snape decided to take Potter's offer and choose a book from the shelf. There were only muggle books, but Snape knew quite a lot of them: it was a carefully selected collection, which surprised him more than the brat's behaviour could. Who could have guessed that Potter had some taste after all?

Oh, and there was a volume of Yeats too! It had been ages ago, when he had last read his poems – the Irish poet was Heather's favourite too, he wondered and smiled. Pulling the book off the shelf, he brought it to the sofa and sat down comfortably. The book opened up almost automatically, and Snape's eyes wandered to the first words he caught:_ When you are old and grey and full of sleep_ – he knew this poem. It was deep and meaningful and beautiful. Like Heather. Something, Potter had never been. And then again, the book showed itself that its owner loved this poem and returned to it again and again, until the page had become crumpled and worn like an old face. Snape suddenly examined the paper more closely. It was as if it had been dropped in water, or more, if some liquid had dropped on it.

Oh.

Feeling as if he were spying on another person's privacy, he opened the book in another place. A sheet of paper slipped out from between the pages and fell on the floor. Snape took the book off his lap and leaned down for it. When he lifted it, he suddenly felt breathing quite hard a task. It was a death certificate from the Ministry of Magic. What was this document doing in Potter's library in this special book? Fighting the urge to break the brat's bedroom door down requiring an explanation, he opened the death certificate with somewhat trembling hands.

He gasped for air and an unfamiliar, pressure-like feeling began to press the corners of his eyes and his nose. No, no it couldn't be true!

What he saw, confirmed his worst fears.

He felt as if the world was crumbling down around him.


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry, I won't answer your questions about the story. But I regret to inform you that **The cupboard **was a one-shot, which means that I will not add more parts to it. (Here I want to thank you for all who reviewed it!!!)

And sorry for the delay in uploading: ff.net had some problems in the last days, so if you want to read the fics without delay, you can join my yahoo group. But please, tell me your opinion about it. I'm a little bit afraid you don't like this fic. You can tell me the truth, I will accept flames and I will not be hurt.

Anyway: The whole story is betaed by Barbara

And thank you for the reviews:

saman007uk, water drifter, Melwasul, RADKA bramblerose-proudfoot, and Mikee from the old folk

and the new ones: reviewer (twice), Anne Phoenix, cassie, kagayaki-taki, Claudia, Milenn Cassandra Riddle, Earthmom, 

:-)

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2.

"Snape! SNAPE! Wake up!"

After a suppressed yawn, Snape opened his eyes to have a look at the man who was shaking him madly. Not too surprisingly, it was Potter – of course, they were in the brat's flat somewhere in Australia, and some hours before, Potter had disarmed him with a muggle trick and…

"Potter," he sneered suddenly completely awake. "Give me back my wand!"

To his surprise, the next moment his wand was back in his grasp, while Potter put on some robes in a reckless hurry.

"We have to disappear. Now. I'm happy you sleep in your usual clothes."

Snape was about to open his mouth and to berate the cheeky man, when he noticed that Potter was right. He was indeed wearing his muggle clothes, only the shoes were missing as he lay on the absolutely horrendous sofa. The book was still lying on his chest. Then he caught sight of a grandfather clock facing him, and couldn't help, but cry out in anger.

"It's two o'clock in the morning! What do you think you're doing?"

Potter glared at him.

"Try not to yell, Snape. We should leave as soon as possible. They'll be here in no time."

"They?"

"The Death Eaters," Potter answered irritated. "I used magic. They can detect it. They will be here as soon as they can gain permission to Apparate into the country. That means that they can be here in any time."

Australia was surrounded by Anti-Apparation Wards, because wizarding people from all over the world had always tended to flee to that country in case of emergency, and after a while, the local Ministry had decided to take control of the reckless immigration and had created the wards, which had drawn power from the whole magical community in the country. This was the only reason they were still alive, Snape mused. If Voldemort and his lackeys had been able to Apparate into Australia, they would have been dead by now. But somehow, Potter's guilt or whatever other sense had woken him in time to flee.

"I see," Snape said and put the book on the nightstand. Potter, with incredible speed, grabbed it and took some steps backward with it. His face was so contorted with pain and sorrow that Snape almost pitied him. So, those traces of tears were the brat's. But soon, he shook his pity off. He turned his attention back to his shoes.

"It's…" Snape began after he had put his shoes on, but he couldn't finish the sentence.

"_Expelliarmus!_" somebody bellowed and his wand flew out of his grasp in an instant. The next moment the room went completely dark and Snape could sense as Potter threw the floor lamp in the direction of the previous voice and felt Potter grasp his wrist and pull him towards the bedroom. He followed the brat in the sudden darkness deciding to trust in his instincts, it was his flat after all.

Somebody cursed after the lamp's impact and Snape knew they had a small advantage until the Death Eater got rid of the lamp in the darkness. He smirked. Potter wasn't wanted by Dumbledore for nothing. Even without a wand, he was quite potent – like the previous evening.

Whack!

Dump!

The unmistakable sound of two bodies' colliding sounded from ahead and his breath hitched. Their attackers were in pairs or even more and there were only the two of them and Potter was without a wand... Bad luck. Snape heard loud swearing from Potter's direction, and the darkness disappeared: the first attacker finally remembered the Lumos spell and they were uncovered. Snape jumped to his feet and sought refuge behind an armchair, while Potter grabbed the other man he had collided with and whirled him around so that his colleague's next curse hit him instead of the brat. The movement was undoubtedly professional, because the hurried Killing Curse spared Potter's life this way, but the room was dark again, because nobody could perform two kinds of magic simultaneously. Snape heard as Potter dropped his dead shield to the floor and grabbed his arm again without a word. The brat didn't even try to search for the dead man's wand: other curses crossed the air around them, and the wand simply wasn't worth of risking their lives for it. So Snape, out of habit, rolled his eyes, but still didn't protest. The next moment they were standing in a small room, the door closed behind them, and Potter opened a window and ushered Snape out.

"We should get a wand," Snape murmured and glared at the brat. The room was too dark for it, so his glare missed its purpose. Potter made a nonchalant sound.

"Go back if you want then," he spat through his clenched teeth. "I prefer being alive than having a wand."

Snape cast an irate look at Potter in the semi-dark (again, without any result), but the younger man just shrugged it off and climbed out without another word. With a silent sigh, Snape followed him. While climbing from one windowsill to another, he kept cursing Dumbledore and the whole Order, and everybody who had agreed with the old lunatic that he should find Potter.

An opening door croaked somewhere in the dark, and Potter stopped at a window and pushed it in. It wasn't locked fortunately, so soon, they were standing in another small room, in another flat, and the window closed innocently as soon as they were in. But Potter still didn't open his mouth, just opened the room's door and drove Snape through another, but very similar flat. They were so cautious that the inhabitants didn't even wake when they left the flat. The only trace of their presence was the closed, but not locked entrance door.

Reaching the street, Potter began to walk so fast than he was almost jogging. For a moment, Snape thought to resist, but inwardly cursing the Headmaster for his stupid idea to sending him to fetch the brat, followed the young man again. 'I feel like a puppy,' he though sardonically. 'A puppy of Harry Potter's at that.'

A loud boom sounded from the flat they had just left and a disgusting memento of so much pain and so many sins appeared floating in the air over Potter's flat: the Dark Mark. The blood was drained from the younger man's face as he watched the skull and the serpent for a long minute, then he turned on his heel and continued his reckless hurry away from his previous life.

"We have to go to Perth," was Potter's first sentence when they were quite far away from the flat walking down a dark, narrow street, already in a normal stance, his face regained its normal colour. "My only magical acquaintance in this country lives there."

Snape felt as if he had been hit by a very heavy object on his head.

"Perth? Are you mad, Potter? That's the other side of this damned country!"

Potter tiredly rubbed his eyes, and sighed.

"That's the only way you can get a wand and return to Britain by Floo or Apparating. You can try flights of course, but I don't think it would be too safe to go for such a long trip without a wand, especially after that meeting in my flat…"

Snape for a moment couldn't say a word.

"And what about you?" he barked angrily.

"That's none of your business, Snape. You can go home and report to Dumbledore that you fulfilled his orders: you pulled me back into this meaningless war."

"ME? It was you who stole my wand!"

"It was you who strangled me and didn't leave me alone!"

They looked at each other with well-covered hatred in their eyes, but in the end it was Harry, who waved tiredly.

"All right, just put the blame on me, if it makes you happy. But now, we have to get to an airport as fast as we can, that's the fastest way here…"

"I don't think you'll find any flights in this impossible hour. It's half past three," Snape interjected and Harry nodded.

"You're right. We have to find a place to spend those hours until morning."

"What about a pub?" Snape asked to Harry's astonishment.

"Pub? At this time of night?"

Snape smirked.

"We can find open pubs anytime, just we have to search them in the right place."

Potter rubbed his eyes and nodded.

"All right. Lead our way then, because I'm sure I don't know any pubs in this area."

Harry was quite surprised when Snape indeed found an open pub, but was quite relieved that they didn't have to spend the night's remaining hours on the streets. He felt unbelievably tired: his life, his entire life had just been ripped from him forever – again –, and suddenly, he was really grateful for his instincts, which had forced him to pocket the Yeats anthology and now, driven by an unknown feeling, he pulled it out and caressed its cover in thought.

For a moment, his feelings were so intense that he almost suffocated. He should have left it behind, together with everything else he had had just one hour ago. Perhaps that would have been for the best. To leave his old life behind and begin anew, void of painful mementos, but now, that Yeats was in his hand, he couldn't help but clench it so tightly that his knuckles went white.

He didn't care what Snape would think about him, sitting there and clinging in an old book. In reality, he didn't care about Snape at all. It hadn't been entirely the git's fault that they had been found: he should have been more cautious too. He was quite relieved that the other man didn't harass him because of it now, they sat in an almost companionable silence, like two friends: Snape drinking beer, while Harry had chosen to have tea instead. Snape had been the one who had served their drinks, and after some silent minutes, he quietly spoke-

"I don't think we can go by plane, Potter. The radio just said that the police had found that dead Death Eater in your flat and now, they are after you."

Snape's soft words caused just another wave of pain. His life seemed suddenly upside down.

"Oh, no," he groaned and ran a finger over the book's cover absentmindedly. "So now, I'm in deep shit. Just like I was back in Britain. Isn't it interesting?" he suddenly asked and looked at Snape. "Any time I meet you I become the centre of the happenings. Perhaps it's not me, who is a trouble magnet, but you."

"Potter," Snape growled, but Harry didn't become frightened.

"Any ideas, Snape?" he asked instead cheekily.

"About what, Potter?"

"What can we do now? We have to reach Perth in any case. I have no chance against them without a wand, and you have to get home."

"We should find somebody here."

"Try then," Harry shrugged. "But I warn you, Sydney is too big for such uncertain adventures. Your chances of running into a local magical person here are less than your chance of meeting some of your good, old colleagues…"

"Potter!" Snape's head jerked up and the man scowled at him, showing all of his teeth.

Harry smirked evilly and shrugged.

"What? Denying the obvious, Snape?"

The next moment, Snape leaned over the table and grabbed Harry's collar forcefully, while spitting hatefully into his face, "You little piece of shit, you'd better to close that fat mouth of yours! Your stupidity almost killed another person, me, to be precise, and I decided not to mention it, but your behaviour" he shook Harry "makes me think that you never even gave a damn about the people dying around you as long as you were safe…"

The next moment Harry's fist found its way into Snape's nose (again) and the older man tottered back in pain holding his now bleeding nose in his hands. Harry, mimicking Snape's previous movements pulled him closer by his collar.

"It's Satan reproving sin, Snape, don't you think? You were a Death Eater, not me, you were the one who tortured and killed people, how dare you accuse me of being careless and virtually a murderer of my friends?" with a push, he released the older man, who popped back to his chair.

Snape lifted his head, his eyes were burning with unleashed hatred.

"I never killed anybody, Potter. Never," he hissed and pushed a handkerchief against his face. Harry, in response, released a short, sharp laugh.

"No?" he asked mockingly. "The joke of the century!"

Snape's eyes burned even more. "No. And nobody, I repeat, nobody has died because of me. Quite the contrary, you snivelling, disgusting dimwit. I saved more people in my life than you can ever imagine!"

"Oh, such a touching grandfather's tale, Snivellus. But I hope you don't think you can make me believe your little stories. I know quite a lot of things about you. I know about Voldemort's ways of initiation… They're quite bloody…"

Snape, to Harry's astonishment, stopped arguing, just shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't need you to believe me. You, who killed your best friend…"

This blow was just too low, again. Harry paled violently.

"Snape, you don't know anything about that… that…"

"Amazing language skills, Potter," Snape smirked, but he was quite scary with the blood still oozing from his nose.

Harry fought hard to regain his composure. He had gone too far that morning, he knew. He wouldn't have lose his self-control just because of Snape's taunting words – or most of all, he wouldn't have to begin the whole argument. But he couldn't help it, Dumbledore's favouritism towards the git still scandalised him, the unfairness of it all.

With a sudden decision, he put his cup down to the table and stood up. He didn't want to remain under the same roof with Snape. He needed to get out, to get as far away from one of the most hated people of his life as he could, and as soon as he could. So, he left the other man behind without a word, almost running out of the pub. Once on the street, he nearly collapsed, but he didn't let the weakness subdue him, he kept walking, his heart racing in his chest – Snape's words just burned, ate him from inside. "… _you never even gave a damn about the people dying around you as long as you were safe…_" The absolute injustice of it, of his whole life, and this man hadn't even hesitated to use it against him. His friends… Oh, it hurt.

"Hermione," he called out softly and felt hot tears running down his cheeks. "Hermione, Ron… loveling… Loveling," he cried silently. Those bright eyes looking at him, that smiling mouth, those comforting arms around him… Their common dreams of a quiet, peaceful home in the countryside, with kids and dogs – and all of a sudden, everything was taken from him, his loveling's eyes were as empty as anybody else's hit by a Killing Curse – his dreams and his life had died in that day and hadn't returned since.

No kids, no dogs, no house in the countryside, no peace, and most of all – no loveling.

And Snape just came and threw awful words in his face. He had done, he had really done everything he just could to protect them all. It hadn't been his fault that they had died.

He couldn't care about his surroundings anymore, and he didn't care that he couldn't care: in reality, he wished Voldemort would be there and put an end to this whole scum called life with a fast spoken Killing Curse, and he could join them in that other adventure – if Dumbledore had been right about it. He didn't know he could trust the old, crooked man in a serious topic like that when he had betrayed him more times that Harry could even try to count.

A painful shake pulled him out of his thoughts. A strong hand clasped his shoulder and made him whirl around. Harry could hear a slight gasp before he could cast a look at his attacker (though he knew his identity quite well).

"Potter, come back to that pub." It was a command, but Harry wasn't a student of the git anymore – not as if he had followed his commands even back at school.

"Leave me alone, Snape. You did what you had to do. Voldemort is here or will be here in no time, I will meet him, I don't have to go back. Go now."

"Don't play the drama queen, Potter. It doesn't suit you."

"Let my shoulder go, git," Harry stepped back.

"No, Potter."

"Why not? You can't force me to do whatever you want, can you?"

Harry saw on the other's face that his words had been true. Snape released his shoulder. Harry nodded and turned around.

"Bye then. I am absolutely displeased to meet you."

Snape made a tentative step towards his direction. "Potter, wait."

"No."

"Potter!"

"NO!" Harry quickened his steps, but he still could hear Snape's soft footfalls behind him. He growled in frustration. Couldn't the man ever leave him alone?

"You forgot your book in the pub."

Damn it. Harry clenched his jaws resolutely and didn't turn around.

_I don't need it. Not any more. It belongs to the past. It can never bring her back._

He was almost running. Snape's footfalls still sounded too close.

_Why doesn't the git leave me alone?_

"Potter, stop, please," the words were choked and hoarse. Snape, Harry could hear, could barely breathe because of his hurt nose. A wave of guilt suddenly pushed him so hard that he almost fell back. He shook his head and turned around.

The man's face was a royal mess. Clotted blood covered the whole lower part of his cheeks and mouth, he looked like a vampire after feeding. But Harry just couldn't enjoy the sight.

Somewhere, deep inside, the man had been true. His forgetfulness had almost killed Snape, and the man hadn't really mentioned it until he had begun to taunt him about his past. Lowering his hands in capitulation, he looked at the man directly in his eyes.

"Potter, look…" Snape couldn't finish, because Harry's words interrupted him.

"Snape, I'm sorry. It was very rude of me," he waved towards the other man's nose. Snape involuntarily stepped back.

"I shouldn't have said that about Mr Weasley, I guess," he spoke up uncertainly.

They just stood there for some long moments. Finally, Harry nodded and waved at Snape, who followed him. Soon, they were standing in front of a shop. Harry went in, motioning Snape to remain outside, but he arrived back soon.

"Let's go to a less open place," the young man muttered. Once in a shadowy street, Harry pulled out a bottle of water and a handkerchief. "I'm going to wash the blood off your face. You're not presentable in your present state."

Snape grunted something back, but he obeyed and let Harry wash the blood away.

"I shouldn't have hit you," he said when he finished.

Snape didn't answer, not even nodding, just handed the book over to Harry.

"It's yours," he said softly. Harry touched the book so carefully as if it was a fragile piece of art rather than a book.

"Thanks," he muttered.

"You'd better clean your own face too," Snape noticed quietly. But when Harry didn't move, he took the handkerchief and the water and washed the younger man's face.

Harry was so embarrassed that he couldn't utter a word, just stood there as if he had been rooted to the ground, until Snape spoke up again, "We have to find a way to go to Perth then," he said in a casual voice, for which Harry was very grateful.

"I think we should rent a car," he answered uncertainly. But I don't think I can do that with my current ID – oh, and we should do something about my… er… identity."

"Dumbledore provided me with some fake documents," Snape pulled out an envelope with two IDs. "For situations like this. The only thing you have to do is to put in these contact lenses and… let your hair grow a little bit. It should change your whole appearance."

"Are you sure it will work?" Harry looked at him warily.

"Why?" Snape furrowed his brows. "I don't know any better solution."

"I don't trust Dumbledore," Harry said, his voice sounded bitter. Snape didn't speak, just looked at him expectantly. Finally, Harry grunted out. "If you want to know, it was he, who killed Ron. He, and not my carelessness."

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Next: Wednesday :-)


	3. Chapter 3

Betaed by Barbara

Thanks for the reviews: Anne Phoenix, ShortySC22, Ash of Mine, Moghedien17, reviewer, tall oaks, Mikee, Mag Carter, emma, Padawan Jan-AQ

The story will make sense, I promise. I know it's a little confusing, and it will be perhaps more confusing in this chapter… But don't give up!

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3.

Snape looked at the man with surprise, not even trying to hide it.

"Potter, look, whatever I said I don't blame you and the Weasley family doesn't blame you either, so you don't need to put the blame on yourself or on another…"

Potter lifted his chin defiantly: it was a gesture, which had always irritated Snape beyond belief. He could feel the annoyance swirling in the back of his mind, however hard he tried to suppress it.

"You know nothing about that night, Snape," the brat said, but suddenly, he changed topics. "So what did you babble about those contact lenses and the hair-growth?"

For a moment, Snape was considering going on with the aborted topic, Potter was quite impolite toward Headmaster after all, but after a moment of reconsidering (mostly because the old man wasn't there) he confessed to himself that Potter had been right about shifting into more peaceful territory. It was not the time for quarrels and arguments, and that blame-topic was very likely to grow into one. So, he surrendered and pulled a small envelope out of his pocket, and sneered, not purely out of habit: Albus's idea was more hilarious than normal. For a short moment, he clenched his teeth to maintain his normal composure over the disgust he felt, and sighed.

"Albus gave it to me in case we had to travel using muggle devices, especially airplanes, where we need documents, and he thought it would be dangerous to travel under our own names – even though you lived here under a fake name…"

"Yeah, James Poulter," Potter muttered distractedly. "I didn't want anybody to find me…"

Snape shrugged and ignored the quiet remark.

"And now, it comes in extremely handy since the local police are after you, and I suspect they even have a photo of you, so we need them. It's absolute luck that nobody has recognised you yet."

"It has something to do with the radio announcements," Potter barked under his breath, but Snape again paid no attention to the idiot brat's whining. In reality, Potter, just like in the good, old days, began to get under his skin – and it had nothing to do with the punch on his nose! It was the man himself, who irritated him: a spoilt, irresponsible, whining, cowardly weakling – and here he was to change his nappies… He hated the situation and he loathed Potter. But he forced himself to go on.

"… Though I don't think you will be too flattered, if you see these documents…"

"As if I want to see ANYthing Dumbledore sent," Potter murmured, but Snape continued deliberately pretending that he didn't hear Potter's babbling. Instead, he pulled out the two IDs, and handed Potter his. The idiot cast a blank look at the ID, then Snape. "We will travel as Gabriel and Steven Paddock, father and son: so Albus gave me those contact lenses for you to put in and you can grow your own hair to be like mine without a wand…"

"What?" Potter seemed absolutely stupid and Snape sneered.

"The matter being?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Slow down. I'm not sure I understand what you're saying."

Snape scowled so that his teeth reappeared.

"We will travel as father and…"

"I understood that part, Snape. I don't understand the whole. I'm not like you."

"This is why you have to put in contacts and make your hair grow."

"Make my hair grow," Potter smirked sarcastically. "Come on, Snape!"

Snape suddenly leaned closer and almost spat in Harry's face.

"Have you gone mad, Potter?" Snape hissed. "Are you a wizard or not?"

Potter staggered backwards and paled furiously. Snape crossed his arms over his chest and smiled.  He had never believed, not in his wildest dreams, that he still was able to bring such a shock out of Potter!

The younger man suddenly seemed just broken, nothing else.

"Yes, technically I'm a wizard. And no, I don't want to behave as one. I quit, Snape."

"The Golden Boy just hid away…" Snape's lips curled down in disgust.

Potter's shoulders slumped even more if it was possible.

"Ron died. Everybody has died I once loved," he muttered, his face almost lit in the street's dark. "I don't belong to that world anymore."

"Your responsibilities…"

"Go to hell, Snape! I don't give a damn about them! I don't have responsibilities toward the wizarding world any more! You stole me everything from me that I held dear, don't come and preach me now about what my responsibilities are!" By the end of the sentence, Potter's voice was pitched and so sharp that it hurt Snape's ears.

"Hysterical, Potter?" he asked sarcastically.

Apparently, Potter gave up yelling at him, and turned to leave once again. Snape's hand grabbed his shoulder forcefully.

"Oh, no, Mr Potter. We won't play this game any longer. You have to disguise yourself and we have to disappear as fast as we can. The muggle police are after you. The Death Eaters are after the two of us. You told me we have to go to Perth to meet your contact. I'm willing to go with you. We don't have time for such scenes! Stop this nonsense NOW!"

For a moment, Snape thought Potter would punch him again as his eyes lit up in fury. But, almost immediately, it was replaced by a dull resignation and the man ran a hand through his messy hair.

"All right, Snape," he breathed. "All right."

There were a lot of things, Harry had never believed before. One of them was seeing Snape driving a car. He was unpractised, it was clear, but he could drive nevertheless, and it picked Harry's curiosity more than anything. When and why had Snape learned to drive a car? It was such a _muggle _thing to do, wasn't it? And Snape, as the ultimate Head of the Slytherin House didn't seem to appreciate even _half-bred_ things and people – how could he stand to do such a pure-mud thing as driving a car? But he had decided he wouldn't enter into a conversation with the irritating git anymore. They would somehow survive their trip to Perth, where Harry would bid good-bye to the man and go to die by the hands of Voldemort.

Oh, yes, he would die, he didn't have any doubts about it. He was still inexperienced, even after those years of fighting, but that wasn't the main reason for his resignation. The main reason was that he still didn't have anything to fight for. He just didn't have even an ounce of that power Dumbledore had mentioned to him long years ago.

_'There is a room in the Department of Mysteries, that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. … It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power took you to save Sirius tonight. That power also saved you from possession by Voldemort, because he could not bear to reside in a body so full of the force he detests. In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.'_

Yes, he knew now, what Dumbledore had been all about. But he was absolutely incapable of love. And pure vengeance was not enough to destroy the darkness. Not to mention that the mere memory of Sirius's death gave rise to much more recent and painful thoughts, which stabbed his stomach like a dagger and stopped his breathing.

So many deaths…

So many people he had cared for, loved, cherished – they had vanished into nothingness to never reappear. Nobody was like his friends. His friends… he suddenly remembered Snape's annoyed hiss: '_Have you gone mad, Potter? Are you a wizard or not?_' The same question Ron had asked Hermione in the deadly hold of the Devil's Snare back in their first year – and his heart throbbed in pain. Ron, the victim of Dumbledore's plans together with Luna and his loveling… Nobody would be like his loveling. He had been stupid when he had thought he could move on with his life.

No, there wasn't any chance he could move on. He was rooted deeply in his past, he was a slave of it, of those people, of his memories of those people. Perhaps Snape had been right to come for him and drag him back into that meaningless war he could only lose. Whatever would happen, it would be the end even if Voldemort survived. He would go through that veil, which separates life and death and he would finally find that peace he had rarely had – and would never have in this life.

From this point of view his differences with Snape seemed rather childish and absolutely insignificant.

He looked at the man sitting next to him without the usual blinding hatred he was used to and was surprised to see a totally different person sitting in his greasy-haired potions teacher's place.

This man was still greasy, but he could see the first greyish locks at his temple, which scared him. Snape… Snape wasn't _that_ old, was he? Forty-two, twenty years older than Harry, not a young man by any standard, but by wizarding standards still in the very beginning of his adulthood. And yet, his eyes were circled by heavy shadows, his face pale and haggard, his hands slightly trembling when weren't on the wheel – all these things spoke volumes about the man's current mental and physical state. He was completely exhausted and on the verge of some kind of breakdown, if Harry wasn't mistaken.

"I will drive, if you want to have some rest," he spoke up tentatively.

Snape lifted an eyebrow without glancing in his direction.

"You don't have a driving license," he said a little irritated, but without the usual boiling hatred.

Harry wanted to protest, but then it came to his mind that he as Steven Paddock really didn't have anything but his ID and his new face, and released a sigh.

"Then we have to stop soon. You need some rest. You look like hell."

"I don't need your concern, Potter," the hatred was back. Harry was tempted to answer with the same feeling and vehemence, but he remembered his previous thoughts and swallowed instead.

"All right," he said, "but we should stop anyway. I need a bathroom. And you could use some coffee…"

Snape's head bobbed slightly shoving that he understood Harry's request and after half an hour they stopped at a petrol station.

When Harry returned from the toilet, he saw Snape standing next to the car in the parking space (apparently finished fuelling), staring numbly at the surrounding mountains and as he went closer, he noticed the lines of deep sorrow on the man's face mixed with lines of exhaustion and pain.

Snape was crying.

It shocked Harry so much he couldn't even move.

Snape was crying. Silently and proudly: his back straight, his hands held the car's door so forcefully that the tendons in his hands were taut like a drawn bow, his lips were forced together, his eyes shut tightly – but slow tears snuck out of the corners of his eyes, betraying him together with the light trembling of his shoulders.

Even being scared of the sight, Harry knew what Snape would say if he caught Harry leering at him, so the young man retreated towards the shopping area to buy some drinks and food while Snape regained his composure. He didn't hurry back, just when he saw the man releasing the car's door, stepped out of the small shop and walked to the car. Without a word, he pushed the paper cup into Snape's hand and circled the car and sat in his seat. The tears' prints were still visible on the tired face.

Snape knew precisely that he was too exhausted. In his normal state, he would have never showed grief or sorrow in front of Potter of all people, but the last days were very hard on him and even before he had found Potter, he had had two sleepless nights in a row after Minerva had owled him of Draco's death – Dementor's kiss… and he was torn between grief and self-reproach. He could have done more to save the young man from this fate, he should have been more open and used the power he knew he had over the boy to prevent him from joining the Dark Lord, but he had failed. Draco had finally followed his father's fate into the fire of Hell killing the Creevey family in his search for Potter, five people in one occasion and getting caught by the Ministry Aurors red-handed on the spot, and Narcissa had killed herself right after her son's death.

So, he had spent two days sitting in his hotel room and drinking himself into oblivion, but absolutely unable to get drunk or have some sleep.

And then, he had gone to fetch Potter just to find that death certificate in a Yeats anthology of all books, and that had been the final blow. Not to mention Potter's constant whining and aggressive behaviour on the top of all this.

But the brat now brought some drink to him, and even if Snape was sure Potter had seen him cry, didn't say a word, just handed him that cup of strong Earl Grey tea and retreated to his seat.

Perhaps the brat had some human features after all.

"Thanks for the tea," he muttered when he finally sat into the car.

"You're welcome," Potter said in an even tone. "I bought some sandwiches if you're hungry."

He nodded, took one of the offered sandwiches and slumped into the seat chewing tiredly.

They sat in a companionable silence eating.

"What are your plans after we reach Perth?" Snape asked after swallowing the last bit.

"I'll face Voldemort."

The answer was simple, and was missing that usual _something_, which had always been present in the younger man's voice whenever Potter had spoken with him. What could it be? Snape mused, while the car turned back to the road. Cheekiness? Annoyance? Irritation? Stupidity?

It took some time for him to realise that Potter's tone was missing that always-present hatred and defiance, which was the perfect match of Snape's similar feelings. Why?

The answer hit him like another strong blow on his nose. He had cried and Potter had seen it. And now, the brat felt somehow compelled to… To what?

Anger flared in him. How did Potter dare to pity him?

But when he turned to the younger man, he didn't see pity or any similar feeling on the young-old face. He saw fear and tiredness and sorrow, while Potter stared out of the windscreen, his eyes unfocused.

Loosening his grip on the wheel, he turned his attention back to the road.

"If you want, you can turn the radio on," he said quietly.

"No, thanks," Potter answered. "I prefer silence."

Snape nodded.

They sat in silence for long hours after that. It was already late afternoon, when Potter again spoke.

"Why did Dumbledore send you?"

"The Dark Lord discovered I was the spy," he said. "Dumbledore wanted me out of the British Isles all of a sudden," he added bitterly.

"Oh, I see. The old man is still perfectly capable of making decisions about other people's lives."

The resentment in Potter's voice surprised Snape.

"What do you mean?"

Potter shrugged his shoulders.

"I think we are just pawns in his game against Voldemort. He doesn't care about our feelings and decisions; he just uses us: you, me, the Order, and even Fudge and the Ministry, if I'm not entirely mistaken."

"Potter," Snape growled menacingly, but the brat ignored him.

"The only difference between him and Voldemort is that we don't have to bear a mark…"

Snape suddenly slammed on the brakes so forcefully that they almost flew through the windscreen. The next moment, he grabbed the younger man's collar and shook him.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he whispered deadly. "You are whining like a spoiled child, Potter, without knowing the real difference." He released Potter and tossed him back to his seat and looked into his eyes, his own blazing with fury. "You don't know what it means to serve the Dark Lord, Potter. You don't know what it means to kill and torture and to be tortured, you don't know what it means to give up your entire existence for a madman, who demands your complete submission in everything, do you understand? Everything. Your possessions, your mind, your family, your body are not yours anymore, but his and his alone, and believe me, he _does_ use them, takes them from you, twists them and throws them back when he gets bored of them," he leaned closer to the pale brat. "You don't know what you're babbling about. You don't know Dumbledore at all, boy. He hates to do this – he hates to manipulate our lives, but he needs to do it if he wants to win this war."

"He could treat us as allies, as equals, but no, he doesn't trust us," Potter cried out in frustration. "And now, I'm not talking about you, but about me, Snape, me, the final weapon, not a person, a mere thing, something he can use in this war. He never asked my opinion, _never_, do you understand? He never told me the reasons behind those things he asked from me! He forced me to take those Occlumency lessons from you, he forced me to take Potions from you in my last two years even if my OWLs didn't meet your expectations, he forced me to do that Auror training even if by my seventh year, I didn't want to become an Auror any more, he forced me to partake in the Order, but somehow, my missions were always so blurry: if you remember, even you can see that we never talked about my missions in those Order meetings, I was always kept in dark about his motives or my role in the whole shit and in the end, he tipped Voldemort off about my home's location killing the three people I cared most in my life and later he told me that he just wanted to protect me. '_My dear boy_'," he mimicked the Headmaster voice. "'_We couldn't let you be killed_'." Potter hit his knees in exasperation.

"Potter…" Snape tried a soothing tone, but it apparently didn't work, because the other man went on.

"At least, you joined Voldemort and later Dumbledore willingly, but I never had the chance to make my own decisions in my life. And Dumbledore was afraid I wouldn't choose the way he wanted me to go, so he manipulated me shamelessly, depriving me of everybody I once held dear."

Potter's voice was very, very small in the end, and for the first time in his life, Snape didn't react out of hatred or annoyance. Something in the brat's voice stopped him from spitting some sharp and hurting remark. Potter's shoulders were slumped, his head bowed in defeat, and Snape finally could see the person – not the Potter he hated, but a real person with feelings, fears and scars and it hushed him into silence.

"I see," he croaked after a while, started the car's engine and turned back to the road giving time for the younger man to regain himself.

However he disliked Potter, he had to admit that he was right. His conscience forced him to see things he had ignored before. He had to surrender it, because it weighed heavily on his mind.

And knowing that it was he, who transmitted Dumbledore's tip-off about Potter's residence, didn't really ease that weight.

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Next: Saturday


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the delay. I tried to do my best, but the local system stopped giving me internet access during the weekend, and the system will be unstable for weeks, so I don't make promises, only suggestions about the next update.

Betaed by Barbara

Thanks for the reviewers: Aku Maru, Earthmom, Jen, Mag Charter, starangel2106, ScortySC22, water drifter, Immortal Memories, gaul1, lillinfields, Athenakitty, Ash of Mine (you'll see whether Dumbledore is a bastard or not! :-P), Daintress (don't make hurried opinions about anybody in this fic!), Padawan Jan-AQ… 

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4.

Harry was genuinely surprised by Snape's reaction. In reality, he had been waiting for the other man to yell at him, to call him names, perhaps even to hit him, but that careful retreat and those two words of understanding had been quite unexpected. Unexpected, but not unwelcomed. They were like the white flag of truce between them, and Harry accepted the silently offered opportunity. Seeing the man crying also helped. Seeing that Snape was after all human, like everybody else. A terrible mannered human, but human nevertheless.

He still didn't like the man, but that boiling hatred had somehow disappeared from his chest. It was a real relief: Harry had literally felt the hatred eating him from inside, it hurt him probably more than it hurt Snape anyway. 

Feeling a little bit safer with the man now, he took a nap after their conversation, and he woke just after 8 p.m. feeling relaxed and a little bit less tense. Snape, on the other hand, didn't allow himself to even stop for a moment, just drove, his eyes fixed to the road. From time to time, Harry shot a glance in the other man's direction wondering when Snape would confess that he was dead on his feet (or bum in this case): the man's blinks were longer and longer and he couldn't stop yawning. Harry knew better than suggest a stop, he didn't want to provoke another argument over the dangers of driving while tired. But he was on alert to wake Snape in the moment the man fell asleep.

They stopped only twice during the day, and when the first stars began to appear in the deep blue sky, the older man finally gave in.

"We have to stop. I can't keep my eyes open," he said unceremoniously and turned into the petrol station in front of them. "At least we left those mountains behind us," he muttered and got out of the car.

Harry followed him and they both stretched themselves.

"I'll go pick up some drinks," Harry said, the man merely nodded. He bought a tea for Snape, but for himself, he chose a strong coffee knowing that one of them had to watch during the night. Not as if they had too many chances – watching or not – if the Death Eaters found them, but it didn't really matter. Harry wanted to watch, to be a little bit alone and think.

Snape seemed oddly touched when Harry brought him the tea.

"You shouldn't have to…" he muttered, but his eyes were barely open. A few moments later, Harry smiled and pulled the half-full cup out of his ex-professor's weakening grasp.

"Better if you don't pour it on yourself," he said and leaned the man's seat back to render his position more comfortable. "It's too hot."

"Thks," came the short reaction, and Harry smiled again.

Snape fell asleep almost the moment his head touched the seat, and soon, he curled up dragging his knees to his chest. It showed him so different from the angry and snappy man Harry had known for years that his thoughts returned to him and to their relationship again and again. Even a day ago it was such a simple relationship: they hated each other and that was that. This hatred had its firm foundation in Snape's schooldays and it had been only an added bonus that after a while Harry had answered the man's hatred with similar loathing and resentment. The situation had worsened after Harry's fifth year, when Dumbledore had forced them back together to learn Occlumency and Potions. And while Harry – out of fear of losing more people around him – had soon excelled in Occlumency, those Potions lessons had rendered his life a hell: Advanced Potions three times a week, and Snape had never forgot to mention that Harry's presence in the class was resented and tolerated only because of the Headmaster. Harry remembered his burning face and the tears of humiliation and impotence, and many times it had only been Hermione's soothing hand, which had stopped him from doing something unforgivable (or Unforgivable) to the man.

And then Hermione was gone, and he had felt exposed and defenceless in those classes, the single Gryffindor and Snape's taunting hadn't even lessened – or more so, he had taunted Harry with Hermione's case too, which was killing the young man so much that he finally had fled from a Potions class and gone to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore had stopped Snape's verbal taunts, but couldn't stop the other kinds of cruelty, which had lead to Gryffindor earning the last position by the end of the year.

But by that time, Harry hadn't cared. They had had a fight, and after that, Snape had always been more cautious around him.

Their relationship over the last days hadn't been simple either. But surprisingly, Harry finally felt somehow reconciled with him. Snape had really been helpful, even after Harry's onslaught in the pub doing his best (even if it was like somebody's worst) to avoid conflicts with Harry. Harry, however, couldn't help but provoke the Potions Master. All this had changed when he had seen the man cry. Snape had trusted him enough to cry in his presence, Harry thought and this thought was somehow comforting. And Snape had seemed to understand Harry's complaint against Dumbledore too. Or even more, Harry could feel guilt coming from the man. It had been surprising. Snape and guilt. Snape – accepting his retort and belittling the man's Death Eater experiences. Oh yes, Harry could perfectly understand what Snape had been talking about. But he had never been given the chance to choose freely.

Though he had made a decision: it had happened only once, and he had kept secret from the Headmaster and the Order – and it had ended so tragically with so many deaths.

Dumbledore – oh, how he hated the man.

He opened Yeats searching for his favourite.

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

By the end of the poem he was curled up, like Snape, shaking heavily with the sobs.

Dreams – nothing else remained of his beautiful loveling just dust and dreams. And nothing would bring her back ever. Her lack seemed like a void in Harry's chest. Gripping the book strongly, he didn't realise when he slipped into a nightmare-filled slumber.

Snape woke up to a quiet groaning from behind, and when he turned around, he found himself face-to-face with a pain-faced Harry Potter, who clutched the familiar Yeats book in his hand. In his sleep, Potter was nothing like the arrogant, little sod he had known for ages; he was just a fragile young man with deep scars and fears going to meet his fate in a few days, and this knowledge suddenly shook Snape.

So young… Slightly older than his father had been when he had died protecting his family… He didn't know why, but he reached his hand out and touched the young man's shoulders in a soothing manner.

"Just dreams…" Potter muttered and his tears began to run down his cheeks. "Tread softly… Loveling, loveling open your eyes, please, please don't leave me alone… We'll call him Solidus, Solidus…" a strange, half-sob, half-laugh shook Potter's body. "Don't tread on my dreams, darling, it hurts…"

Snape froze in terror. The implications of this dream were just too obvious. The next moment, Potter grasped his hand and pulled him closer still crying.

"I'm cold…" he whispered. "I need the heavens' cloth, she's there…"

Snape couldn't help it any more. He yielded and leaned closer to the young man, slipping his hand around his back and rubbing calming circles.

"Heavens' door… she's there… let me go…"

Snape had to clench his jaws tightly if he didn't want to cry himself.

"Shhh…" he whispered struggling with the bubbling sorrow in his throat.

"I'm poor, I have no clothes… she left," Potter seemed to be in a half-dream. "She left me, Ron, she left me… She swore she would never…"

Snape took a few deep breaths before speaking up.

"Wake up," he said a little louder. "You're having a nightmare."

The first sign of Potter regaining his consciousness was that the body stiffened in his half-embrace. Cautiously, Snape pulled his hand back and slowly withdrew giving Potter space to regain his composure too, and fished for a handkerchief in his pocket. When he found it, he pushed it into Potter's hand and got out of the car.

The fresh, summer morning was beautiful and still not too warm, and Snape gave himself time to stretch his numb limbs and do some gymnastics to restart his blood circulation. Potter was still curled up, so he headed to the shop in the petrol station for some breakfast and tea for the both of them. By the time he arrived back, Potter looked like he had gathered himself together, though he averted his face when Snape sat back in the car.

Purposefully not mentioning the waking minutes, Snape offered tea and a sandwich to Potter, who accepted the tea, but didn't even look at the food. Snape decided to divert their attention from the embarrassing events, so he asked, "How did you know yesterday that they would come after us?"

Potter looked at him taken aback.

"What do you mean?" he asked furrowing his brows.

"You woke me up in the middle of the night before the attack… How did you know about it?"

"Oh, _that_," Potter released a sigh. "Voldemort can feel my magical signature if I use magic."

Snape stared at him expectantly.

"It's something new for me."

"It's since… he… er… possessed me in my fifth year in the Ministry of Magic. I began to feel his things… and I always knew where he was and what he was doing. I tried to tell the Headmaster and that was when he forced me back to learning Occlumency with you. As you know, I somewhat mastered it, but those feelings never ceased. I told Hermione then, and she and I did some research in the library – and we found that it's mutual. I began to give tips to the Headmaster about Voldemort's whereabouts, but he soon realised the same, so we began not to use our magic… not to be detectable."

"Ah, I see," Snape nodded. "This was the reason the Headmaster never let you fight or do magic unless if it was absolutely necessary…"

"I didn't understand why. I wanted him to find me, to finish our business once and for all. But Dumbledore always disagreed saying that I was not ready. Ultimately, his resistance killed Ron and… and other people. Then, I quit."

Snape nodded again and turned his attention to the car.

"Can we go?"

"Were you waiting for me?" Potter looked at him as if he grew another limb.

"You should go to the toilet before departing," the man suggested with a short sigh. "Move yourself a little. Then, we'll leave."

"Uh… okay," Potter cracked a weak half-smile and got out of the car, but leaned back. "Thanks."

Snape fixed his seat into a comfortable position for driving and scratched his stubble. He hated it, but he had neither shaving kit nor wand to remove it with a quick spell, so he scratched himself thinking of what he had learned about the young man, and found that he had some kind of… understanding towards him. And a strange kind of sympathy or whatever. Potter was different than he had imagined him to be. He was much softer, more human, carrying many more scars than the others – so unlike his celebrity of a father or the moron of a godfather, and so unlike that emotionally driven teenager he had been in Hogwarts!

Or had it been simply he who had never paid attention?

Harry didn't know what to think about Snape any more.

He acted just… creepily. What had changed him overnight? All right, he understood why Snape hadn't mocked him about crying – the man too had cried the day before, so they were even now. But that… comforting touch was so unlike the cruel man. He couldn't understand, and it scared him more than a little.

"So, what about the war? What happened since I left?" he asked as soon as he returned to the creepy man to avoid any possibly embarrassing topic. Snape apparently was eager to accept the silent offer to change topics, because he answered without his usual scowling or sneering.

"Shacklebolt died three months ago in an attack against the Ministry. Charlie Weasley is in hospital, because he was severely injured – they were together. Fudge is still the Minister," he stopped for a moment and Harry looked at him seriously. "The Wizengamot sentenced Draco Malfoy to the Dementor's kiss for murdering the Creevey family. His mother committed suicide soon after her son's death. There are no more Malfoys. Are you happy now?"

Harry was shaken by the news and by the bitter and sad tone in which Snape told him. He lowered his head.

"No," he said quietly. "I hated Malfoy, but I never wanted him to… to become a murderer and to die." As an afterthought, he added, "I'm sorry."

Harry's soft tone must surprise the Potions Master, because he cast an inquiring look at him. Harry didn't lift his head, just repeated, "I'm sorry."

"He was my last family," the man added. When Harry didn't speak, he continued. "Lucius and I were cousins."

"I see," Harry pressed out. "I didn't know."

"There are quite a lot of things we don't know about each other."

Snape's reaction surprised Harry.

"Don't tell me you actually want to know things about _me_?" Snape just shrugged at the sarcastic tone. "But… Why?"

"Why not?" the cold reply silenced Harry.

The landscape around them began to change. The mountains were far behind them, but the cultivated fields became rarer as they advanced towards the west. After another stop Snape suddenly continued on with their previous conversation.

"Oh, other news: Fletcher was sentenced to two months in Azkaban. He was caught in some illegal business in Knockturn Alley. He wanted to earn money with some brooms, but it came out that those brooms he believed – or he says so – to be simple brooms were the newest Firebolts…" Harry snickered and even Snape smirked. "Serves him right. At least, the Headmaster has a spy in Azkaban too."

"Well, it's not so unbearable now that the Dementors are gone," Harry said in thought.

"Oh, and professor Sprout's son is betrothed to Miss Tonks."

Harry laughed.

"Just in time! I thought he would never dare…"

Snape's smirk widened.

"Mr Longbottom is dating Miss Weasley."

"Oh, no," Harry felt at ease and a little happy.

"I think both were turned down by their previous partners, and they came to the Headquarters one night to kill their heartbreak with some alcohol, and since then, they're together."

"What about Moody's love life?" Harry asked playfully.

"Still platonic with that Ministry witch from the department of Muggle Artefacts. Though I don't think it was his decision. To be platonic I mean."

Both snickered.

"Oh, and Gilderoy was released from St Mungo's last week. They say he will work for Madam Malkin as a model or something like that."

"Though I think the Defence job is still open," Harry noted maliciously.

"Potter!" Snape cried out in mock anger. "Don't tell…"

"Why not?" Harry shrugged. "He fits the job perfectly. I think that after Aberforth in my seventh year… you can simply put anybody in to teach that class."

"Well, Albus was not too lucky with his decisions…"

Harry suddenly sobered up.

"He should have given that job to you long ago."

His remark must have surprised the dark man, because his jaw fell and he almost released the wheel.

"What? Potter…?"

Harry's mood lifted even more.

"Perhaps we wouldn't have had to put up with you for seven years. Imagine, one year in that cursed job and we wouldn't have had to suffer your presence in the school anymore."

To his astonishment, Snape laughed harshly.

"For a moment, Potter, I thought you were serious."

"I also," Harry added smirking.

"Albus wanted to give you that job last year," Snape's tone turned solemn dispelling Harry's good mood.

"Yeah, I know. He told me, but I refused."

"May I ask why?"

"Think about it: three out of my seven teachers ended up in St Mungo's. Two were killed and Remus was a werewolf… Should I go on?"

Snape took a deep breath before speaking.

"You didn't trust Albus."

Harry's face fell.

"You're wrong, Snape. I trusted him." He lifted his head and stared out of the windscreen, his previous sorrow returned with multiplied force. "I trusted him more than I should have. And he betrayed my trust."

Harry could see Snape's face turning white in understanding.

"You… he…" his ex-professor muttered. "Don't tell me that he… he was your…" the older man simply wasn't able to finish the sentence. Harry did it for him.

"Yes, he was the person I trusted with my beloveds' security."

"No…" the whisper was faint and barely audible.

"But yes."

By this time, Snape's face was grey, almost green.

"It couldn't be…" he stopped the car to face Harry. "Tell me straight to my eyes, what happened."

Harry looked calmly at the man in the eyes and slowly and clearly he spoke.

"Albus Dumbledore was my secret keeper. And he gave out my secret to my worst enemy. In the name of a greater good," he smiled bitterly. "I couldn't remain in the wizarding world any more."

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 Next: we'll see, Wednesday or Thursday, depends on the local network…


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for the reviews: Rhiain (welcome back!), Nemo Returning (hiya), Melwasul, Daintress, Ash of Mine, Savage Damsel, athenakitty (I've already got used to your questions: if you are that curious, go and read it again AND go and read this chapter), Barbara Kennedy, starangel2106, chickens, Shi Tsukino, Immortal Memories, jennifer, Mogheiden17, SheWolfe7, water drifter (good to see ya!), lillinfields, Padavan Jan-AQ, reviewer, Earthmom, The angelic vampire (oh, I know you love angst, dark… :-D), Mag Charter, gaul1, deranged black kitten of doom.

Surprisingly high number. I was afraid this fic would meet with scorn and dislike… But I like it and I like that you like it too!

Betaed by Barbara

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5.

Snape just couldn't help it. For the second time during their travels, he jumped on the brakes and got out of the car as fast as he could. He was lucky: the first wave of retching arrived when he was already outside the car. He didn't know the last time he had felt so sick, but for now, everything seemed to make horrible sense in his mind, everything that had happened since Potter had left the Order and the war behind.

His friends were dead or no longer in their right minds, apparently Potter's girlfriend was dead too, and on top of it all, Dumbledore had betrayed him in the worst way possible. Now, he could understand the boy better than he had ever wanted. In reality, he had never wanted to understand Potter. He loathed – he _had_ loathed – the boy and later the young man and wanted nothing to do with him anymore.

The second wave of vomit was even harder and he fell to his knees.

Strange. He had never thought he would react so badly to news like that. And lo! Apparently, the mere thought of betraying a wizarding vow made him ill – unlike Dumbledore, who even after the events had seemed the same. Like Pettigrew.

Snape sneered to himself. What a thought! Pettigrew and Dumbledore being alike! But Pettigrew's denial about his owing to the Potter brat had never disturbed him. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was a different case. Dumbledore was almost everything in the world to him: a friend, a mentor, a father (one of the reasons of his hatred towards Potter had been precisely the jealousy, the fear that Potter would alienate Albus from him). He had always respected him because of his exceedingly strong morals, because of his efforts to save the wizarding world from the constantly menacing darkness, because of his warm-heartedness, care, attention. And now, the only comforting figure of his life disappeared into thin air, and he felt alone and utterly desolated.

He retched again and leaned forward, his head spinning. It was too much on top of the news of the last days. Death and betrayal… As if the whole world had joined together against him to rip from him everything he loved and cherished. Draco, Narcissa, Heather and now Albus… He couldn't calm his churning stomach down.

A light touch in his forehead snapped him out of his thoughts, but he didn't recoil from the contact, on the contrary, he leaned into the offered help until he felt that there was nothing left in him he could throw up. Then a slightly wet handkerchief touched his cheeks, temples, forehead and lips, cleaning the remainders of his previous actions, and a hand slipped under his helping him stand up.

He let Potter support him back to the car and slumped in the seat powerless. The young man didn't say a word, for which Snape was absolutely grateful, just stood next to him wearing a worried expression while the Potions Master regained his composure somewhat.

"Sorry," Snape muttered embarrassed.

"No need," his companion shrugged. "I had a similar fit when I learned what had happened."

Snape took a deep breath.

"No. I meant sorry for," he lifted his head and looked at the brat making a tentative wave with his hand around "for all this. And for my… my rudeness."

Potter seemed so genuinely taken aback that he couldn't utter a word, just gaped like a fish in the air. Snape reached a hand out tentatively and gently squeezed the younger man's shoulder. Potter went rigid for a moment and frightened, he jumped back stumbling, slipping and finally fell on his back. Snape felt horrified at this reaction so that he couldn't move to help Potter up, just stared at the young wizard, who moaned painfully.

Finally, Potter looked up to him, shame and mild terror obvious in his eyes; he was apparently waiting for taunting remarks and cruel words – it wouldn't have been the first occasion – but none came. Instead, after the primal shock, Snape did the previously unbelievable: crouched down next to him and helped him into a sitting position.

"We should sit back to the car. We can't lose any more time," he said flatly avoiding anything, which could refer to the young man's unexpected reactions. "And I feel better now."

"Yeah," Potter muttered and seizing his shoulder, he struggled to his feet. He was still ashamed: his eyes examined the ground, his ears deep crimson.

There was a long silence after their mutual grand scene, just after another stop, Potter broke it, sounding tentative.

"Snape, do you know anything about Hermione?"

Snape stiffened: this wasn't really a topic they needed to discuss after… after all that had happened a few hours before.

"You can call me Severus, I think," he said instead stalling for time.

"Severus?" Now, Potter was _really_ surprised. "But… why?"

He cracked a grin.

"That's my name, Potter."

From the corner of his eyes he saw the young man rolling his eyes.

"I have a first name too. Perhaps you should use it. It will help you to not confuse me with my father anymore."

For a moment, the usual irritation-mixed-with-hatred flared in Snape's chest, but it cooled down almost in an instant.

"I'm perfectly aware of you not being your father, Po… _Harry_," to his utter surprise his voice didn't sound sharp or sarcastic; just a normal tone, like anybody else's.

"Sorry," Potter sighed. "I almost managed to piss you off again."

"Almost," Severus agreed. "But not quite."

A slight shadow of a smile appeared on the younger man's face.

"I'm impressed, Severus."

"Don't be obnoxious. I still hate when you are a brat."

"Right," Potter nodded solemnly. "So, care you tell me about Hermione?"

Snape's throat suddenly went tight, his mouth dry.

"She's still in hospital. There is…" his voice cracked, but he gathered all his usual neutrality to go on, "there is no hope for her. But you know that."

"One can always hope," the answer was quiet.

"It's been five years, Harry," Snape's voice was low and soothing. "If she didn't get any better in the first two years…"

"Yeah, I know." A short, bitter laugh sounded in the silence. "You hated her."

Snape felt something hot and burning emerging in his chest, and he shuddered with the sudden attack of shame.

"I was wrong," he croaked, his voice hoarse. "But I didn't hate her. I hated you and felt that everything that caused you pain, was…"

"Don't go on," it was an obvious plea, so Snape closed his mouth and nodded. "She was a beautiful girl and the best friend I've ever had." He laughed. It was so false that Snape jerked his head to look at him. Tears soaked Potter's face. "Do you know that I was in love with her? But I never told her, she loved Ron and I didn't want to interfere. But she always had time for me – and it was she, who prevented me falling to the dark side in my sixth year, when I was resolute to revenge Sirius's death. I was prepared to use every Unforgivable on LeStrange or on anybody I could reach… I was seething with fury and revenge, I couldn't even think normally. She yelled at me, slapped me, cast the Immobilizing Charm on me…" Another short, dry laugh, which caused almost physical pain in Severus's ears, "And went to Ron. She always turned to Ron. And later when I learned that Pettigrew killed Remus… That was the worst year of my life."

"With me in Potions and Occlumency," Snape added, chuckling darkly. "I can imagine your… mental state. But why are you telling me all this?"

Potter shrugged and buried his face in his hands.

"Dunno. I guess I'll die in two or three days and feels just… nice to talk about it before all this… war or whatever ends."

"Why do you think you won't survive?" Snape asked genuinely curious.

"Oh, that's simple. I don't know what can I do against Voldemort, how can I defeat him once and for all, while he knew precisely that a simple Killing Curse will put an end to my life. And this time I don't have my wand to protect myself by a Priori Incantatem. And I don't have that stupid, romantic love-power Dumbledore thinks is the only weapon against him."

"You're stupid, Potter," Snape exhaled irritated. "You still care deeply about Miss Granger. And even if you've lost a lot of people you loved, you still feel love towards them. You're able to love, and this is what gives you the power you need."

Potter raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"And care to tell me _how _can I use it against Voldemort?"

"That's what you have to figure out."

"Brilliant," Potter muttered darkly. "It's lucky you never were my Defence teacher. I can imagine you instead of teaching defence techniques encouraging us to listen to our instincts. I don't think I would have survived the last ten years…"

"Look, Potter, can you be just civil without provoking me?" Severus snapped.

"Can't. Your presence makes me edgy. And when I'm edgy, I attack."

To his own surprise, Snape just rolled his eyes.

"Perhaps you are a Potter after all."

"Perhaps you are a Snape."

He shook his head amused. Potter's cheekiness was quite entertaining when he didn't feel hatred boiling in him constantly.

"What did you do since I last saw you?" Potter asked suddenly.

"When did you last see me?"

"Two years? I don't remember precisely, but it was someday around the first attack on the Ministry."

"That long ago?"

"Yes. After that I didn't participate in the Order meetings. Dumbledore felt better a er… personal counselling." The pain and the sarcasm mixed in the young man's voice. Severus winced.

"I did the usual. Spied. Taught. Nothing extraordinary."

"Hmm. And how did Voldemort learn you were the spy?"

Snape yawned.

"That's a long story, Potter and I'm not sure I want to talk to you about it."

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"You didn't."

Potter just sat in silence fidgeting, he seemed inundated with memories. The next time he spoke however, was only when they stopped for another pitiful night's rest in an absolutely desolate petrol station where they were the only customers the entire time they were there.

"You know I asked you about her, because before I left, I visited Hermione once again. To… to say good-bye to her. I think I felt I would never go back… It happened two days after… after the attack on my house and Ron's death…" his voice faltered as his thoughts slipped away. Severus waited patiently for the continuation. "Did you know that she's in the same department where Neville's parents are?" Another false laugh. "She just lies curling into a foetal position on her bed all the time without showing any interest in her visitors. We… Ron and I visited her almost every week. Well, Ron visited her every day, you know, but I never visited her alone. He, I mean Ron didn't want to give up on her. He fought. It was just… too hard to see them knowing that I never loved her enough to remain at her side in a situation like that, that I betrayed her by falling in love with another person…"

"Potter, do you feel guilt because you fell in love with somebody else even if she never reciprocated your feelings?" Snape's eyes goggled in disbelief.

Potter choked out an indefinable sound between cry and laughter.

"Yeah, I know I'm an idiot. You never forgot to remind me…"

"Potter, get a grip!"

"So, I visited her before leaving. Alone, of course, wearing black because of the funerals…" Potter's body was shaking so hard that Snape braced himself against a possible magical outburst. But after a while, Potter recollected his self-control. "When she saw… or felt that I was alone, she jumped off of the bed, on me, shrieking like a banshee and tearing at least three handfuls of my hair before the keepers managed to stop her. Do you know what she shrieked?" Potter shook his head. "Killer! Traitor! At the top of her lungs. She shrieked the same things I saw in the Weasleys' eyes at the funeral. They blamed me. Everybody blamed me. I don't know why; perhaps they thought I should have killed Voldemort long before… Or… I don't know. And Luna's father… he blamed me openly. And Dumbledore was there, you know. Was there and smiled jovially like a grandfather, and I fled because I didn't want to kill him…"

Snape sighed and turned to his ex-pupil.

"I'm happy to hear that at least you don't blame yourself."

"No," Harry shook his head resolutely. "No, for their deaths, no. But I still think, Hermione's state and Remus deaths were my fault as well as Sirius's…"

"Nonsense!" Snape cried out frustrated. "It was a war, a war with casualties, a war that you were involved in against your will, a war, where you were only a child amongst adults who were just as impotent as you!"

"I failed Occlumency, which killed Sirius…"

"_I_ failed _you_!" Snape shouted. For a moment, Potter looked at him, his eyes wide in surprise, but soon, he shook it from him.

"But Remus's death was my fault! If I hadn't run to Hogsmeade in a fit…"

"Miss Granger's case shocked you and we missed seeing what was going on inside you!"

"Hermione was tortured, because she was my friend! They wanted to break me through her!" 

Snape grabbed the young man's shoulder and shook forcefully. This time, even if Severus was waiting for him to recoil, Harry just shrugged his hand off.

"You can't be blamed for being alive, Potter! Why can't you just understand it?"

"What's this sudden change in opinion anyway, Snape? It was always you, who hated me just because I was a man's son you had once hated, a man, who was long dead when we first met!"

Severus's hand fell powerless.

"I told you I had failed you," his voice was hoarse.

"You didn't fail me, Snape. You hated me."

"That hatred was the reason of failing."

"When did you realise I'm not my father, by the way?" Potter changed topic.

"When you behaved like a human being after seeing me cry."

All of a sudden, Potter threw himself back in his seat, laughing harshly.

"This is… mental," he choked out as soon as he could breathe again. "If I knew the only thing I have to do is to see you cry…"

"Potter…" Severus growled menacingly.

"You are an idiot, Snape," the brat turned. "No normal man can hate somebody for so long without a single cause!"

"Then imagine, Mr Potter," Snape's voice dropped coldly, "that you teach in a school where I'm the Headmaster, who always favoured Draco Malfoy, you owe me your life and the spitting image of Mr Malfoy appears…"

"I can't imagine it, though I know what you're talking about. But first, I don't think I've ever hated Malfoy as much as you hated my father. But perhaps I think about _your_ kid appearing… but no," he said after a long thinking. "I simply can't imagine what I would feel. Perhaps, I'd hate the kid. Perhaps not. I don't know."

After a long silence, Snape realised that Harry had fallen asleep. Severus turned away from him, staring out the windscreen in thought. He had learned so many things about this young man next to him today… All those things he had gone through – yes, Severus had never before thought of them like he did now. Of course, he had never wanted to understand the boy before. But now… and under all those mentioned facts there was something… something more, Severus felt it. And slowly, without questioning Potter, just by listening to him, the whole story of the young man's fleeing lay open before him. Harry, however, had missed mentioning one thing: his affair with Luna Lovegood. But he could easily guess it from his behaviour, his words. That nightmare yesterday, the mysterious 'loveling' – it had just sounded similar to Lovegood. And she had been killed on that very day, when the Dark Lord had learned the whereabouts of Potter's residence – and a cold chill ran through his body. He had participated – even if unknowingly – in the murder of Ronald Weasley and Luna Lovegood. And yesterday, he had told Potter, he had never killed anybody…

If Heather had known – was another horrendous thought. Heather and Luna had been very good friends. And Heather had died around the same time her friend had. On the 23rd of June. At least, the death certificate had said that. Had it been a coincidence? He didn't know, but he reminded himself to ask Potter about the date of Miss Lovegood's death. Just to be sure.

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Next: Saturday? Sunday? Monday? It depends on the local network (again). If I can, I'll upload on Saturday. We'll see.


	6. Chapter 6

Betaed by Barbara

Thanks for the reviews: starangel2106, Nemo Returning, Padawan Jan-AQ, athenakitty, Ash of Mine, Mag Carter, ShortySC22, Barbara Kennedy, gaul1, Nation-Eldiablo, Danielle (the story is MEANT to be confusing so far :-)), water drifter (you'll know who she is), Lauren (if you were devastated because I finished HDH, you'll be even more devastated, because in two weeks I finish this one), Jaded Angel8, Immortal Memories, The angelic vampire, Sword Wielder-Firebreath, Aredhel Tasartir

I promise, by the end it will be more or less who is/was who.

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6. 

The next day, in spite of Snape's obvious lack of practise driving, they were at the two-thirds mark of their travel, almost halfway through the Nullarbor Plain. His ex-Potions teacher wasn't too fast a driver, he scarcely drove faster than sixty miles per hour, sometimes even less, which was quite ridiculous: the road was straight and there was no real traffic either, but Snape just went on with his usual meticulousness, his eyes on the road as they headed towards Laverton.

Harry was a little bit nervous about his previous day's confession, and so, he didn't speak, just stared out of the window avoiding any possible eye contact with the dark man next to him. On the other hand, he could feel that Snape wanted to ask him about the things he had told him, but he didn't feel ready to answer them. Any of them.

And there was something else… Nervousness was radiating from Snape: his fingers tapped the wheel agitatedly and from time to time he sneered to himself as if he was fighting an internal battle. What could have caused this nervousness, Harry mused. Their situation? Shame of being seen crying? Or… was it that guilt he had felt from time to time for two days?

He leaned back in his seat, willing his tension to pass. His hand moved to his pocket involuntarily, and the next moment he was staring at the cover of the poem book – again.

He pressed his lips together and tried to swallow back the emerging pain… As if pain could be swallowed…

I wander by the edge

Of this desolate lake

Where wind cries in the sedge:

Until the axle break 

_That keeps the stars in their round,_

_And hands hurl in the deep_

_The banners of East and West,_

_And the girdle of light is unbound,_

_Your breast will not lie by the breast_

_Of your beloved in sleep._

"Potter," the familiar voice startled him and he turned to his companion.

"What?"

"It'd be better if you put that book down. You're just tormenting yourself."

He shut the book with a swift motion and swallowed again.

"How do you know?"

Snape cracked a smirk.

"Honestly, Potter. I could ask you the same."

"The same?" Harry gratefully concentrated on their conversation. It helped to chase Yeats away from his thoughts. And not only Yeats…

"Appreciating poems is not too common amongst wizards."

"I was raised by muggles. We studied English Literature in school."

Snape lifted an eyebrow.

"In primary school?"

Harry shrugged defeated.

"And how do _you_ know him?"

"Yeats?" Harry nodded. "My sister loved his poems. She was an old romantic…"

For a moment both sat in silence.

"She's dead, isn't she?" Harry asked tentatively.

Snape nodded tersely, and Harry could see his muscles tense on his jaw. The tapping on the wheel stopped too. After some long, uncomfortable minutes Harry gained all his braveness.

"It was she you were grieving for?"

They both knew that Harry referred to Snape's breakdown two days ago.

"No," Snape said another long pause. Later, he added, "It was Draco."

Harry nodded and looked at the man expectantly. He didn't even think to press the issue, he was waiting to see whether Snape intended to elaborate on his answer or not. When he didn't speak, Harry returned to his staring out the window, and could hear the poem's verses echoing in him: '_Your breast will not lie by the breast / Of your beloved in sleep._' He felt so miserable that he almost choked out a sob.

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled…

Another verse from the poem, and his heart throbbed in a physical pain.

He didn't want to live.

"As I told you, Draco was my last family," Snape spoke up suddenly. "His mother was a cousin of mine, but before you ask: no, I wasn't related to Black, thank goodness, I was related to her from her mother's side. We weren't too close, mostly because my family was too poor for her, but Draco…" he sighed, "He was another topic. I felt him to be my responsibility of sort when he came to Hogwarts, and we became quite close there. I tried to prevent him from joining the Dark Lord, but I failed, mostly because I had to maintain my façade, I couldn't risk my position…"

Oh, how familiar, Harry thought sarcastically. Malfoy had to die, because Dumbledore needed a spy… He laughed out mirthlessly. When Snape looked at him questioningly, he just shrugged.

"I just thought of Dumbledore and his plans… If you weren't forced to be a spy, perhaps Malfoy could have lived."

Snape's face darkened, his expression became cold and harsh.

"It was my decision, Potter."

"Oh, it seems I always forget that you had to repent," Harry replied bitterly. "Even though you insist that you didn't kill anybody."

"Enough!" Snape cried out angrily. "Don't press me, boy!"

"I'm not a boy anymore, Snape," Harry answered calmly. "Why did you go back to spying?"

"Because that was the right thing to do, Potter. Because I know my responsibilities, unlike you!"

"Oh," Harry smirked. "You seem to know my responsibilities too. Then, please, enlighten me, because I feel I don't have a clue what is expected from me!"

Snape opened his mouth to answer, but after a deep breath, he closed it, much to Harry's surprise.

"Sorry, Potter."

A wave of guilt washed over Harry. It was his fault, he was the one to unnerve Snape, so it was his task to apologise, not the man.

"No, _Severus_," he said, putting a stress on the man's first name. "I have to apologise. I shouldn't have mentioned Dumbledore. And please, call me Harry."

"I know: not to mix you up with your father…"

"Yeah. I'm not him. Or more so, I don't think I'm like him."

Harry recoiled, when Snape turned his head toward him. His eyes were blazing in an intense, previously unknown fire.

"No. You are not," he said firmly.

Harry's fright wore off slowly. Snape sometimes behaved quite creepily. A moment ago, Harry had been sure he would meet a punch after his remarks about his father (Snape had always been oversensitive about the James Potter topic), but Snape, again, managed to surprise him.

"You are creepy," he said finally. The man shook his head annoyed.

"Not any less than you are, Potter."

"Harry."

"Whatever."

The next silence wasn't long, Snape apparently didn't want Harry to sulk or wallow.

"When did you move here, by the way?"

Harry did a fast count in his head.

"Sometimes in July, I guess. I don't remember the precise date. The funeral was on the 25th, and I departed for the US the following day… I was there for several days…"

"To make a diversion I guess," Snape interjected and Harry couldn't help but smirk.

"Why, of course. And then, I came here."

"It wasn't just a coincidence that you settled down here, was it?"

Harry looked at Snape in thought. He shared so many things with this man in the last days… Much more than he had ever intended, and he was quite sure he wasn't ready to open-up again. And particularly, not on _this _topic.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said finally. He was waiting for Snape to press the issue, but to his surprise Snape nodded.

"You asked me what I had done after you left," his tone told Harry that Snape was thinking of some kind of information trade, when he had decided to deal with this personal topic, but he didn't care. It helped to divert his attention from his grief. He was stupid to open that Yeats book. "I continued to hunt for my lost family members. As I've already mentioned, I had a sister," Harry nodded, when he saw Snape casting a glance at him, "my only family member, who didn't join the Dark Lord, though her husband was a part of the Inner Circle just like me."

Harry paled and suddenly, he remembered the Death Certificate in the book in his lap. And other things: Snape had opened this book three days ago, so it wasn't entirely impossible that he had seen it and the whole story he was spilling to Harry was just to find out the truth – but Harry was scared. He had never examined the certificate, he had been all too shocked when the official had pushed it into his hand with a sneer… But that meant… Oh, dear goodness… It just couldn't be true…

Snape apparently didn't realise Harry's discomfort (or at least he pretended not to), and went on with his story.

"Her name was Heather," now, Harry trembled and struggled to swallow the bitter saliva in his mouth. He felt sick. Sick and… and something else. Trapped. Yes, he felt trapped and he needed some time to think about all this alone, but he just couldn't jump out of the car and go for a walk… he had to listen to Snape's monologue, then ask for some minutes to gain his fleeing thoughts. He felt nauseous. It was much worse than a Potions lesson, he decided. Oh, yes. Though, long ago he had believed Potions lessons be the worst thing that could happen to one. "She was older than me, ten years older to be precise. We were very different in every way. She was a Ravenclaw, she was beautiful and smart, she had never wanted power: the only thing she wanted was family. She married soon after school to Martius Montague."

Heather Montague… Dear goodness… that couldn't be true! Just… couldn't!

"She disappeared two years ago, and Martius and I made numerous attempts to find her – without success. She disappeared without a trace. I didn't know what happened to her. I was frantic. Martius was mad." Snape looked at him, but Harry didn't dare to look back. His stomach churned icily, his heart was racing, and his hands whitened on the book. "Do you have something to add to this story, Potter?"

The usual iciness was back, bringing the temperature of the Arctic into the car.

"I didn't know," he said and leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against the smooth cover of the book. "I swear I didn't know. She never told me she was your… your sister…"

Snape released a short, black laughter.

"Don't think I'm that daft!"

With a sudden decision, Harry lifted his head and opened the book.

The death certificate.

For the first time in his life, he opened it.

Death Certificate 

_Name of deceased: Mrs Heather Montague_

_Previous (maiden) name: Heather Snape_

_Place of birth: London_

_Date of birth: 16-01-1950_

_Date of death: 23-06-2001 _

_Cause of death: poison (confirmed by autopsy)_

_Place of death: London, St Mungo's hospital for magical maladies and injuries, __Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes_

The document trembled in his hand, and Harry cursed himself inwardly. Why hadn't he never cast a glance at it? There was written, it was clear: Heather Snape.

Snape. Harry felt dizzy. A Snape.

Why? Why hadn't she told him? Why had nobody told him?

"You saw the certificate, I assume," he breathed in a trembling voice.

"The first day we met, Potter," Snape answered surprisingly calmly.

"Why didn't you ask me before, then?"

"I didn't know what to think about it. I didn't understand the whole… situation. You really didn't know?"

"That she was your sister?" Harry shook his head frenetically. "She never told me. I thought…" he interrupted himself, deep in thought. "She knew that we, I mean you and I, weren't on er… too friendly terms. I guess she… tried to be tactful. But…" suddenly, he hit his tight in rage. "She should have told me!"

"You should have had at least one look into the certificate!" Snape snapped angrily.

"Why should I?" Harry asked, shutting his eyes close. "Why should I?" he muttered pathetically. "Her last wish was to bury her without alerting her family…"

"But why?" Snape's voice now wasn't angry or irritated. It was just sad and desperate. "I always loved her! We were once close! Why?"

Harry massaged his throbbing temples in distress.

"I think she thought you… you were a Death Eater like her husband."

Snape paled.

"Do you think…?"

"I'm not sure. As I told you, she had never told me you were related, so we didn't mention you."

"I see…" Snape released a short sigh. "And yes, she didn't know I was Albus's spy. It wasn't safe. I simply couldn't risk her life by telling her… His husband was a dedicated Death Eater after all…"

"Oh, yes, he was," Harry laughed bitterly. "Faithful and dedicated."

"Did you know him?" Snape looked at him, deadpanned.

"Indeed," Harry sneered murderously. "I was the one, who killed him."

When Snape initiated this conversation he was hoping for the obscure things to become clear finally. They, instead, became even more obscure, if it was possible. And Potter behaved absolutely crazily. Or more so: he was unpredictable, like the curves of their conversation.

"Wait," he lifted a hand from the wheel in order to stop the young man's mad cackle. "Let's start over."

"Over?" Potter's eyes went round in mock surprise.

"Why did you kill Martius?"

"Revenge."

"For Heather?" he was stunned.

"Yes. And no. Not only for her. For Ron and Luna too."

The air disappeared from the car.

"You mean…"

"I mean what, Snape?" Potter was angry.

"Was he… was he who attacked your house?"

"No need to be so… euphemistic, Snape. It was he, who murdered, slaughtered, killed, executed, slew my family. And apparently, your family too…"

Martius's handsome face appeared in Snape's thoughts. So, it was he. The bastard!

But it was he, Severus, who had given the information to the Dark Lord. He was as much a murderer as Martius.

But he hadn't known!

Ignorance was never a good excuse. He had been really only Albus's pawn, he had never tried to question the old man's decisions, and when Albus had ordered him to give this specific information to the Dark Lord, he hadn't even considered that Potter mightn't know about this… betrayal.

"Harry," he spoke up with a sudden firmness. "It was I, who…"

Potter waved dismissingly.

"If you want to confess that you gave the information to Voldemort, you can stop. I know that."

The man wasn't that stupid after all, Snape thought to himself.

"Aren't you mad at me about it?"

Potter's face was hard like a stone, as he turned his head to him.

"It's not as if you had a choice. You were a pawn in this game, just like me."

This time, Snape didn't go ballistic at the pawn epithet Potter put on him again.

"But… surely Albus had a reason for… for acting like that!" he said instead.

"Oh, yeah. He told me. _My dear boy, I just wanted to protect you…_He thought I was more important than anybody else."

"But what happened?" he asked a little more harshly.

"I think that first of all he wanted to stabilise your position in Voldemort's circle. Secondly, I lay injured in St Mungo's and he wanted to divert the attention from me, because there were people on the hospital's staff who suspected my identity, even if I was there incognito. So, he tricked Ron into…" Potter gulped audibly, "into polyjuicing himself into me and making an appearance at the hospital and going home… He gave Ron an emergency Portkey in case he was caught. Dumbledore thought that… that they wanted just to kidnap him. And he was right, they didn't want to kill him, I mean kill me… But there were a lot of loopholes in the plan. Ron thought that the house was deserted. He thought I knew about the plan and nobody was there, so he would get caught, brought to Voldemort, activate the Portkey and Portkey to Hogwarts in the end. It was a risky plan, and perhaps it would have worked if Dumbledore had been sincere to me, to Ron. I was conscious, but he didn't even mention the plan, when he visited me. And Ron trusted him enough not to question the Headmaster's decisions. He thought we had discussed everything earlier. If the plan had worked, I would have given some suspicion-free days, enough to recuperate, while Voldemort would have thought me to be in Hogwarts, safe. But it didn't work," Potter's voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know what happened precisely, because I wasn't there. But I think when Ron realised the house wasn't empty; he panicked. Suddenly, he just couldn't just let himself be caught; he had to protect two frightened women, who didn't know about the stupid plan. And they were severely outnumbered. They began to fight. By the time I got there, they were all dead…"

"How did you get there?" Snape asked quietly.

"I had my own emergency Portkey to home. And I felt something was wrong. I stunned the nurse and went home. The first person I saw was Ron. He was dead. I began to search the house in dread, but found only Luna in my bedroom. She wasn't dead, she was dying. They raped her and cut her throat. I lifted her in my arms. There was blood everywhere. I tried to stop the bleeding, but I couldn't. I was too weak to Apparate. Heather was nowhere to be found," Potter's eyes were shut, his face pale as death. "I couldn't save her. She died in my arms, but she… somehow pressed out that it was Montague. Martius Montague. And that he took Heather with him."

"So it was Martius, who killed Heather," Snape croaked out with difficulty.

Somehow now, he could understand Potter perfectly.

He felt that he too wanted to leave the wizarding world once and for all.

****************************************************************

Next: most probably Wednesday


	7. Chapter 7

Betaed by Barbara

Thanks for the reviews, and I think this part will finally dismiss the questions emerged earlier.

******************************************************************

7.

Harry's trembling snapped the Potions Master out of his shock. He looked at the young man next to him: he buried his face into his palms, his nails were digging into his forehead as he fought against the attacking sobs.

Severus was at a loss. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? He had always played the role of the heartless bastard, and it hadn't been too hard, because he hated – no, he _had_ hated – the boy, James Potter's son with all of his heart, mind and might, but now… he didn't know. And not because of Heather. But… this young man had lost so many things in his life. And he wasn't a cruel bully, he was – and now, Severus realised: he had been – just an emotionally damaged boy, or young man, full of emotions, sorrows, fears carrying the whole wizarding world's expectations on his shoulders… A very, very strong young man, but just a man. Not a hero. Not an idol. And this man was in the verge of an emotional breakdown – perhaps had been for months, but surely for the days Severus had been with him. Could it be the most hated professor's appearance that sent him over the edge? Or was he over the edge, or was he still fighting, being the strong man everybody had expected him to be?

Potter's now long hair slowly slipped in front of his face from behind his ears where he had previously tucked it, hiding his sorrow from the preying eyes of Severus. But the soft trembling could not be hidden.

Finally making a decision, Severus stopped at the next small village, in front of an inn, and without waiting for Harry's reaction, he practically dragged the confused man into the building.

It was late afternoon, and there weren't too many people in the inn, only the bartender and two other men talking quietly close to the door. Snape had a quick look around, and spotted a booth halfway between the door and the kitchen's entrance. It was a good strategic place, there were no windows, so they couldn't be seen from outside. He pushed the still trembling Potter into the booth, sat him down, and went to order some drinks and sandwiches. After the waiter left their table, he sat in the place facing Potter, and pushed the coffee into his hands.

"Drink that."

Potter nodded and drank, like an automaton. Then he lifted his face and looked into his oh-so-hated professor's eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, his shoulders still trembling. The skin of his forehead was bloody and marred where the nails had dug into it, and unshed tears clouded the green orbs.

"You have to… release it somehow," he said flatly. "Did you… ever grieve for them?"

Harry lowered his eyes to the table.

"I… didn't dare. Tried to forget… There wasn't anybody to help…"

The short sentences hit Snape in heart.

"But…" he began, but Harry spoke up whispering to the coffee cup-

"Everybody had died. Dumbledore had betrayed me. The only thing I could do was run. I ran," he emitted a short, bitter laugh. "I'm still running."

"Eventually, you have to stop. You can't run forever…"

"I hope Voldemort will kill me. And it will be finished."

The young man's voice was serious, just like at the first time in his flat, when he had told Snape to kill him.

"Potter… Harry…" Snape said tentatively. "You are still young. You have to face the Dark Lord, but you have the chance to survive…"

"I don't want to survive…"

"You must!"

"No." The voice was hollow, like Potter's eyes.

Something in the younger man's behaviour made Snape speak up again.

"But yes," he said calmly, calmingly, and went on ignoring Harry's obvious anger. "When I was young and stupid, I went to the Dark Lord and entered his service. I was barely 18. I was a cold, sarcastic, ugly teenager full of hatred and vengeance. I wanted to kill your father, Black and some other people and I found that the Dark Lord's service would give me this opportunity. So I went. I was a fool. I was blinded by my own emotions, my vengeance. And when I came to my senses it was too late. I was marked. I couldn't escape anymore. I had to witness murders and tortures, and soon I realised I wasn't strong enough to go on. But I couldn't escape. I was trapped. I was alone, I was a Death Eater and I saw no future for myself. I saw no way out," he sighed and smiled slightly. "Then I went to Hogsmeade, to the Hog's Head and got drunk. I needed it, because I was too cowardly to act soberly. After I was completely pissed, I rented a room, closed myself in, and attempted suicide. It would have been successful, if that blasted Mundungus Fletcher hadn't figured it out beforehand, and suddenly I realised that instead of hanging down from the ceiling I was lying in a bed surrounded by people. Fletcher, Aberforth and their mates from the pub. Finally, Fletcher decided to call Dumbledore. By the time the Headmaster arrived I was sober again, dreading the meeting, and I didn't want to die anymore. But I knew that he would hand me over to the Ministry, and soon, I would find myself in Azkaban. But that never happened. When Dumbledore arrived, he sent everybody out. He somehow knew who, what I was, but he didn't ask me why I went to the dark side. Instead, he comforted me, and later, he asked me to spy for him. I agreed…"

"He manipulated you," Harry suddenly interrupted him. "He let the whole school bully you and push you to the dark side, he knew, I'm sure, that it would drive you to Voldemort, and when you were broken, he used you."

"Potter, it's not…"

"Why did he never punish my father or Sirius for their behaviour? Why didn't he expel them from school, or at least Sirius after he almost killed you? He knows precisely what's going on in the school. He wanted it to happen this way. He needed a spy, so he manipulated you into that situation."

"It's not true!"

"No?" Potter raised a sceptical eyebrow, and Severus could barely suppress a moan.

He didn't want to believe Potter. Believing Potter would mean that he accepted the fact that his whole life wasn't his anymore, that the decisions he had made weren't his anymore, that he really was nothing but a pawn, a stupid, little, emotional boy tricked onto a path he had never intended to visit…

"He always trusted you, because you were under his control, because you believed you owed him for not giving you over to the Ministry, for saving you from Azkaban, for providing you with a job you always hated…" Potter's face wasn't mocking, it was grave and sad. "You made an enormous mistake when you were young, but you were alone and pissed off, probably with a shit of a family background…"

"Stop, Potter," Snape somehow groaned out, and to his surprise, Potter shut up. "I take responsibility for my mistakes. It was me, who made wrong decisions…"

"You were eighteen."

"Adult."

"Barely."

"You have a persecution complex, Potter."

"No. I just hate that Dumbledore wants to win this war at any cost. That he thinks that the end justifies the means…"

"Potter…"

"No, Severus. Please, listen to me first, because I didn't tell you the whole story. You really lost your last family."

"I told you," Snape shrugged.

Potter ignored his remark. Instead, he took the whisky in his hand, and drank the whole glass in one gulp. "I need some help too, Severus. I'm not as brave as you believe."

An uncomfortable foreboding crept into Snape's belly wrenching his stomach. Potter put the glass back on the table, took a deep breath and began.

"One year after I left school I finished my Auror training and I was directed to patrol in Hogsmeade. There, I met a girl, she was in her last year in Hogwarts. We could meet only on the Hogsmeade weekends, but, somehow, we… we liked each other. By the end of the year, I asked her out. She agreed, but she was very frightened because of her family. She didn't want them to know that she was dating me, so we asked help from one of her friends, who was my friend too."

Snape felt his head spun. It couldn't be true…

"Her friend helped us to meet regularly. But it was so humiliating, as if we had some kind of sordid affair: hiding, always hiding, keeping our mouths shut. But she was afraid to act. I was an idiot too at that time, but I was only nineteen, and I was afraid to have a serious relationship… I mean to lift our relationship onto a more serious level. She was so young, and I also… And I was afraid once I made a commitment, she would become a target too. So, we dated. We dated for two years, when… when once she came to a date with red eyes. I got frightened. I thought she wanted to leave me, but by that time, I was absolutely lost," Potter smiled to himself. "So, instead of listening to her, I asked her to marry me. She almost fainted, and told me that she was pregnant."

Snape wanted to reach his hand out and give an encouraging squeeze to the young man, but he felt petrified in his place. The previous sorrowful story was turning into a horrible one, and he could barely maintain his usual neutral façade.

Everything in his mind fell on its place, but he decided to listen. Potter needed somebody to pour his heart out to. It was a story, Severus was sure, he had never told anybody.

"I was terrified. It was one thing to marry somebody, but it was a totally different thing to have a baby in the middle of a war. So, we decided to keep everything secret. We chose false names and we began to construct a life to keep my future family safe. But then, her mother found out that she was pregnant. She broke down and told her mother everything. But her mother didn't tell her father anything. On the contrary, she came to help us. It was her idea to move to Australia. We got married in the muggle way, and nobody, but Ron, Luna and her mother knew about our marriage. But we knew that I couldn't just leave everything behind, so we agreed that I would remain in Britain, and visit them as often as I could. By June, we had every document we needed. The plan was, that Ron, Luna and… and they would come here before the birth and that they would live here as muggles to avoid further complications. We sent over the majority of our personal items, books, clothes, small things. Ron spent days here and bought furniture. Everything was ready. The plane tickets too," he looked at Snape, with a false grin on his face. "They would have come on the 25th of June. And then, Dumbledore came, saw and conquered."

The sudden silence was deafening.

"And… what happened after… after you found," he gulped, his throat hurt, "Mr Weasley and Miss Lovegood…"

"Dumbledore found me," Harry croaked out. "He thought I was severely injured, because I was bloody. Luna died in my lap. She bled out in my lap," he shuddered. "He brought me to Hogwarts, to Madam Pomfrey, and they gave me Dreamless Sleep." Suddenly, the young man hit the table with his fist in desperation. "The bastard! I told him I was fine, I wasn't injured, and that I needed to go! I should go after Montague! But he insisted and I woke up the next day in the Infirmary. I knew that I was too late, but I had to try and find Heather anyway. I stunned Madam Pomfrey, and knocked Mundungus out and went. I was desperate and horrified. I knew where the Montague cottage was. I Apparated there. I found Martius in the sitting room. He attacked me, calling me names. I stunned him and he fell onto the mantelpiece. He broke his neck. He died there. And…" Potter's trembling was so strong that he couldn't hold his glass anymore. Severus watched him for a few long moments, then with a sudden decision, stood up and slipped next to the young man. Harry looked at him. "It's so terrible, Severus… I… I can't tell you…"

"Try it," he said gently.

For a moment, Potter looked as if he was about to faint, but after a moment, he regained consciousness and grabbed Snape's robes seeking for something to cling on.

"I found Heather in a bedroom. With… with my son. They were dead."

Even if Snape had suspected this ending from the beginning of this conversation, he wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to hear it. To bear it. Potter burrowed his face into his sweatshirt mumbling.

"The house elves told me that Martius beat Heather calling her names. Potter's bitch. Whore. And… because of the beating she went into labour. But it was too soon. The baby was due to August. Then Martius thought that the child would be a great tool to blackmail me. But… but the child was dead. Then Martius killed Heather," by this time, Severus was holding Potter tightly, who was howling into his chest quietly. "By the time I arrived they were both dead… I couldn't save them… I failed, because Dumbledore didn't listen…"

Never in his life, Severus felt so utterly devastated. Even when he had tried to hang himself, he had been somehow… in a better mood. Oh, yes, it sounded quite stupid, but it was true. Potter's tale was like a nightmare without the chance to wake up, final, like a grave-stone, and for a moment, he mused that life isn't but that small line between two date. 1950-2001. Or 1982-2001. That small '-'. That's what life is.

His sister, Heather Snape. Lived 51 years.

His niece, Heather Montague. Lived 19 years.

Hot tears clouded his vision. It was unfair. Unfair, unfair, unfair. They should have lived. But they were dead, because… because what? Because Potter had laid his eyes on Heather? Heather Montague. Montague. What a matching name! Heather Montague, a Slytherin from a Death Eater family, who had fallen for Harry Potter, the symbol of light… like a stupid tragedy.

Or what else? Because of a man, who had always done everything to win the war? A man, who had always considered everybody pawns in a horrible chess game?

Or because of Martius Montague, the cruel bastard, who hadn't spared his only child?

No, he couldn't blame Potter. The young man had done everything to protect his loved ones. But the other two… They were responsible. But Martius was dead, so it meant that he could call to account only Dumbledore. After the war. Yes, he would call the old man to account.

Potter's sobs slowly subsided. Cautiously, Severus released him and pushed his own drink in front of the young man. He shook his head, and turned his face away in shame.

"You don't have to be ashamed, Harry," Snape sighed. His own face was tear-soaked, his own eyes were red too. "It had to be done…"

Potter nodded.

"Sorry," he said again.

"No need." He took a deep breath. "And how… how did my sister die?"

"I went to her after… after…" he shook his head. "I slept in her flat. In the morning, I found her dying in her bed. She had poisoned herself. I brought her to the hospital, but it was too late. She had died. The nurse gave me the poem book, she told me that they had found it in her pocket. I put the death certificate in the book and forgot about it."

Long silence.

"Thank you for telling me," Severus breathed out.

"I didn't want to," Harry answered, sincerity was clear in his voice. "But after you told me that Heather was your sister, I thought you had the right to know."

"I'm sorry I didn't know about it before. I could have helped…"

Potter nudged him and chuckled mirthlessly.

"Oh, sure. You would have been thrilled about Harry Potter being the husband of your niece! Scandal! I think you would have yelled your head off, perhaps you would have cursed me or handed me over to Voldemort rather than to bear the idea of me being a family member of yours. And Heather, or both Heathers knew that. They never told me you were related. I wasn't allowed to badmouth you though, because my wife, as an ex-Slytherin forbad me."

"I don't know," Severus said after Potter finished the ranting. "I loved Heather as if she were my own child. Perhaps, she would have been able to make me accept you. We were quite… close. She and my sister spent almost every summer with me, and after she came to Hogwarts, we spent a lot of time together. She was quite lonely in her House. And before… before she ran away with you, she told me not to be worried, but she wanted to be free of her father. I wasn't happy, but I trusted her. But then Heather too disappeared without a trace…" he sighed. "Why didn't I know about their burial?"

"Because I didn't invite anybody. That was the death wish of… of your sister. I… I know that you will be mad, but I buried them in Godric's Hollow, next to my parents' tomb."

Potter was apparently waiting for a harsh reprimand, but Snape just nodded.

"Thank you."

"No," Potter replied. "Thank _you_ for letting me…"

Snape raised an eyebrow and smirked.

"Dumbledore would be overjoyed seeing us so civil…"

Harry's face fell.

"Please, don't… mention him. I blame him, even if you think he's blameless in this situation. I feel as if he has stolen my life from me. Even if I know that it was Voldemort… I just can't help it. If he had treated me as an equal, or at least as an adult… Sirius would be alive. Perhaps Remus and Hermione not, but Ron, Luna, my wife, your sister and…" his voice shook "my son would be alive."

"Do you…" Snape's voice faltered like Potter's. "Did you want to call him Solidus?"

Potter's head jerked to him, betrayal and fear on his face.

"How do you know that?"

"You had a nightmare…"

"Oh," Harry lowered his head again. "I wanted to call him Jason. But Heather wanted a serious name, a proper wizard name. So, our compromise was Jason Solidus Potter. But… I would throw that stupid Jason name away, if I could receive them back. I would do anything. Anything."

It was that moment, when Snape just couldn't help it. He squeezed Potter's shoulder until the young man looked at him, and gulped.

"Potter… Harry. I know that apologies don't help. And that they can't change the past. But I apologise for my behaviour. My behaviour since we met first. It was unacceptable. I was blinded by hatred and prejudice. I treated you worse than your father treated me. I didn't want to see. I blamed them for my wrong decisions, for my failed life. I wanted to get revenge on you. I have no excuse. I should have been more… mature. But I wasn't. I'm sorry."

Harry's face didn't light up.

"Once, I would have been thrilled by your apology. But now, I wish Heather was alive and you and me on bad terms…" he shut his eyes for a long moment. "But, of course I accept your apology. Anyway, you're my last family."

"Oh yes," Snape's mouth circled upwards. "A kind of father-in-law."

"Yes. A kind of."

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Next: Friday. 9th: Sunday, and the last aka 10th part on Wednesday. Then, I'll have to retire for a couple of months again.

Sorry. But I really have to write and finish my thesis (PhD…) and time flies so fast…


	8. Chapter 8

Betaed by Barbara

This is a little bit less hard chapter.

Before the storm, y'know

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8.

Harry felt much better. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his… heart, mind, chest: he could breathe again, he could _feel_ again, not only sense, but feel, and not only pain, but grief, sorrow, fear… He felt whole again. And Snape was very supportive. The man seemed different. Somehow less dark, less cruel, less – ugly. Yes, Harry saw him definitely less ugly as the last shreds of mutual hatred disappeared: in front of him was just a man, not too handsome a man, but not the epithet of cruelty and evilness anymore. The lack of the usual sneer helped a great deal too.

And now that Harry had the chance to examine his ex-teacher thoroughly, he could see the facial similarities between Heather and her uncle. The same lips, the same eyebrows, the curve of the chin. Would his son have been like Snape? He couldn't be sure. He saw the baby only once, and he didn't dare have a good look at him. The events of that afternoon were too blurry and painful. The little boy had gone away before he could arrive for real. His son. His dead son.

He was enraged at Dumbledore now, more than ever before. His confidence had suddenly made everything more real; Heather's relation to Snape just strengthened this feeling. Heather was more than an independent person now in his mind, she was a member of a greater family… A greater family that had died out by now.

Snape was the remainder of a big family, just like him. Oh, no, he wasn't alone: his aunt, uncle and Dudley (already divorced) were still living in Surrey, relieved that the freak would never come back to disturb their little Muggle shelter. Harry hadn't seen them since the last summer between his sixth and seventh year. Not as though he missed them.

But still, he missed a family, a home he had once had for a few months.

"I don't think we can reach Laverton today," Snape said breaking the long and comfortable silence. "We stayed in that pub for too long."

"No problem," Harry muttered and stretched himself as much as he could while sitting.

"We'd have to, I think, but I don't feel up to driving another three hours. My back is killing me, and I can't keep my eyes open."

"We have to stop then."

"Next petrol station," Snape yawned.

"I'm hungry anyway. I hate sleeping in a car. I can't sleep normally, and after I wake up I feel more tired then before."

"The same for me," Snape sighed. "But this is the best way not to be traceable."

"I know. It was my idea in the first place."

"Too true."

They chatted for some more minutes, and Harry really enjoyed the lack of hatred and despite in their small squabbling. It was refreshing.

"The worst thing is that I have clean clothes in my trunk and I can't reach them…" Snape murmured when Harry mentioned the idea of a bath, a normal bed and clean clothes.

"Oh, in Sydney, I suppose."

"No, in my pocket," Snape frowned. "Shrunk. And all I need is a wand…"

Harry snickered. "That must be infuriating…"

"It is." Snape pulled out the small box, and Harry's snicker turned into a small chuckle.

"Nice." 

Snape snorted. "Brat... If this war ever ends, I'll sleep a week after a good bath, in a normal bed, preferably not alone…"

"Either sleep or not alone," Harry noticed mirthfully. "I don't think that you can do the two things at the same time…"

"All right. First the bath. Then the sleeping. And after that…"

"You're a bachelor, aren't you?" Harry looked at Snape curiously.

"Of course. I am and I will remain one," he answered matter-of-factly. "I'm not that touchy-feely type. I hate romance and such nonsense. I prefer sitting in my library and reading to chatting with silly women or looking after kids…" he trembled in disgust. "Oh, and I will give my resignation. That will be first, not the bath, not the bed. The resignation."

"You hate teaching."

"Understatement of the bloody century, Mr Potter."

"But you're not teaching now!"

"Because the Headmaster thought that finding you was more important than Potions lessons. Oh, and I'm on sabbatical. Certain students from my house, considering me a traitor, tried to poison me."

"Poison you?" Harry's eyes goggled in amusement. "Were they in their right minds?"

Snape smirked. "Of course not. I could smell the cyanide in my coffee. Stupid brats."

"And what will you do after?"

"After what?"

"Resigning, bathing, sleeping, having sex… then?"

"I don't know yet. I will write a normal Defence textbook. And perhaps a better Potions textbook too. And what about you?"

"I don't think I will live long enough to see."

Silence fell again, and it remained until they stop at the next petrol station. This time, they both went in to have their drink and food. After a while, Snape excused himself and headed towards the toilet. Harry remained alone, thinking of the last days, when he felt something like a finger or a stick pressed into his back. He froze. It wasn't Severus, he could see the toilet's door from his location. But when he went to turn around, somebody from behind whispered into his ear, "Don't move, Mr Poulter."

A second man, tall, with broad shoulders in black-orange robes appeared in front of him. Harry almost choked as his sandwich went down the wrong way. Wizards, here, in the middle of the shop of a muggle petrol station, fully visible? Were they mad?

"What are you doing here?" he asked as soon as he coughed out the wrong bit.

"We are looking for you, Mr Poulter. We are members of the Australian Ministry's Auror Squad. You are under arrest. You are suspected of the murder of a certain Antonin Dolohov…"

"Oh, so that's who it was!" Harry smiled, pleased. "Served him right, the son-of-a-bitch. Though it wasn't me who killed him," he went on in a casual manner. "It was one of his fellow Death Eaters. Surely, you saw the Dark Mark on his left forearm?"

"No, there was no sign of anything like that on his left forearm, Mr Poulter. On the contrary, we were told that you are a suspected member of that group…"

Harry sneered. "Apparently, Voldemort still has his people in the Ministry." The Auror jerked by the mention of Voldemort's name, Harry noticed with dark happiness. Slowly, he pulled up the left sleeve of his sweatshirt, showing the Aurors his unmarked skin. "I'm not his follower and never will be."

"So you are indeed a wizard!" the man behind him said triumphantly.

"Of course," Harry shrugged.

"Then we have to arrest you for now, until…"

Harry became annoyed. "Oh, no. I won't be arrested," and he leaned closer to the man who stood in front of him. From the corner of his eyes he saw the toilet door opening silently. "I can show you it's not me you want. Come closer." The man behind him shifted uneasily. Apparently, he was curious too. With a grin, Harry cautiously stripped off the piece of fake skin from his forehead and tucked his long hair back. The Auror facing him almost blacked out.

"You…" he stuttered. "You…"

Harry felt the poking presence disappear from his back as the other Auror circled around to have a look at what was bewitching his mate. When he saw the lightening bolt scar, his eyes widened in shock, for only a moment, before Harry hit in the face. Severus knocked the other man down at the same time. They both straightened with a wand in their hand.

"I think you should Obliviate the station attendant. He seems slightly shocked."

Snape nodded and with a flick the shocked man's expression changed into a confused one. Harry and Snape quickly dragged the two half-conscious men outside. Once outside, they looked at each other.

"Now what?" Snape asked.

"You said that you have your trunk with you. Do you have some Veritaserum?"

"Of course," Snape snapped. As if one would ever travel without Veritaserum. "But not here. Let's go to a quieter place. I don't want to get caught overdosing Ministry Aurors with slightly illegal serums."

They put the two Aurors in the car and drove some miles away from the petrol station.

"Cast a Petrificus on this man," Harry waved at one of them. "And ennervate him," pointing to the other.

Snape looked annoyed.

"You have a wand too, Mr Potter."

"I'm not in the mood for Voldemort, Mr Snape," he replied. Understanding dawned on Snape's face and he cast the two asked for spells on the men. After enlarging his trunk, he pulled out a small vial filled with a clear liquid. He administered three drops under the tongue  of the ennervated Auror. 

"You can begin," he nodded at Harry.

"Are you a Ministry official?" Harry leaned closer to the man.

"Yes, Auror O'Leagh from the Australian Ministry's Auror Squad."

"Are you a follower of the Dark Lord?"

"No."

Both men sighed in relief.

"Who are you looking for?"

"James Poulter from Sydney."

"Why?"

"He is suspected of murder and participating in You-Know-Who's organisation."

"Who gave you this information?"

"We received it from the British Ministry of Magic."

"Beautiful," Snape muttered.

"How did you find out my location?"

"We received an anonymous call; you were seen in a local inn five hours ago. Since you were considered a dangerous wizard, the Ministry sent us instead of the muggle police."

"Five hours," Harry turned to Snape. "It means that they could be here soon."

"I don't understand some things, Severus," Harry finally stood. "They didn't see the Dark Mark on Dolohov's forearm."

"Oh, so that's who it was," Snape nodded absentmindedly. "The mark disappears at death, whether the Death Eater's or the Dark Lord's death. Do you remember Barty Crouch? It could have been good evidence to support the Headmaster's truth, but with Crouch's death – even if it wasn't a complete death like the Dark Lord's for years – it disappeared. This was the main reason they couldn't catch the Death Eaters after the first war. There was no proof."

"Ah," Harry nodded. "And what about the Dark Mark over my house? Did the muggles see it?"

"No. Only wizards can see those spells. For muggles, it looks like fireworks." Snape bent over his trunk and pulled out another vial.

"What's that?"

"Polyjuice," he sighed. We polyjuice ourselves into these Aurors and Disapparate away before the Dark Lord arrives here."

"If I Apparate, he will sense my magical…"

"No. Polyjuice will give you the person's magical signature."

"I didn't know that."

"You didn't pay attention in your seventh year, apparently."

"Ignoring a bullying teacher demanded all my attention."

Snape opened his mouth to say something brutal, then shut it with a snap. After a moment of calming down, he said, "All right. Let's go to work."

Soon, the familiar figure of Snape dissolved into a tall, broad shouldered, brown-haired young man, while Harry became a middle-aged, slightly paunchy fellow with sandy hair.

"We will go back to Sydney, rent a room, sleep, and tomorrow we'll decide what to do," Snape said after the transformation.

"Why not Perth?"

"Because I've never been there. I can't Apparate there."

"I see."

They tucked the two unconscious men into the car and the next moment they were nowhere to be seen.

By the time they reached their room, Snape could see Harry was at the very end of his power. It wasn't really surprising. Their short night in Sydney, a couple of nights in the car, a day filled with painful discussion and the unexpected appearance of the Ministry Aurors was enough to drain the last shred of anyone's strength.

Nonetheless, he didn't let Potter go to sleep without a shower and a dinner. When the still long raven locks of his one-time enemy finally touched the pillow, he was immediately asleep.

Snape, on the contrary, indulged himself with a long bath after dinner, thinking about the possibilities of their situation. His rational mind suggested he go back to Britain and fight the last battle with the Order's help. But he knew that Potter would never agree, and his heart protested the idea of making a decision without asking the other beforehand.

Most probably, his ex-master was here, on this continent, together with the majority of the Inner Circle, but surely not everybody. Twenty people, but not many more, because it would have been too suspicious.

But there were only the two of them. They were outnumbered by a factor of ten. If Potter let him fight. The boy, no, young man most likely wanted to play hero alone. And was still clueless how to do the task lying in front of him. The old bat had predicted that Harry would be able to defeat the Dark Lord, but she had forgot to mention precisely how he was supposed to do that. Not to mention that Harry didn't have his own wand here, and using a stranger's wand in a delicate situation could backfire easily.

He was deep in thought, when a soft cry alarmed him. Grabbing the wand he was keeping with him at all times, he wrapped a towel around his waist and cautiously peered outside.

Nothing. The room was empty, just Potter crying in his sleep.

Remembering that Potter hadn't cleared his mind before sleeping, he went to Potter's bed and shook him.

"Potter, wake up!"

The cry abruptly ended as his companion opened his eyes.

"What?"

"You didn't clear your mind," he said impatiently.

"My mind is always clear," the brat said and was about to go back to sleep, but Snape didn't let him.

"No! Potter, clear your mind first!" he snapped trying to sound authoritative, but wearing a simple towel somehow lessened the effect.

"I don't need that anymore," mumbled Harry. "Closing my mind became a natural thing long ago."

Snape narrowed his eyes, and pointed his wand to the sleeping form. "We'll see. _Legilimens!_"

The boy didn't even open his eyes, and yet, Snape was repelled. Going back to the bath defeated, the dark man mused over this newest information. Potter had learned to defend his mind. Did he know how to attack too?

The water was still comfortably warm, but he ran some more hot water into the bath before climbing back in.

He had to ask Potter about his extracurricular Occlumency studies. He was sure he hadn't taught the boy more than defensive techniques.

But if Potter knew how to attack…

If Potter trusted him enough…

If Potter was able to overcome his vengeance and use the power that had been given to him…

Then they wouldn't need anything else, just a little luck. And finally, they would be free.

Snape sank even deeper into the bath. The boy saw no future for himself; that was another problem. Potter needed to be given a future to be able to win. Snape sighed, even more defeated. He must give a future to Potter, no, not Potter, to Harry, Harry who was Heather's husband, a young man with a tragic past. He had to give him a glimpse of a better future, something… something to live for.

Snape groaned. That would be the hardest task of his life. Him and counselling! Ridiculous. But he had to do it, and not only because of the Dark Lord, the wizarding world and such nonsense. He had to do it for his sister and for his niece, for the two people he had loved most in his pathetic life. He owed it to those women.

This debt was completely different from the one he owed Dumbledore. This was light and somehow good, the most right thing he had ever done.

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Next: Sunday


	9. Chapter 9

Betaed by Barbara

Thanks again for reviewing, and I hope I can change some negative opinions about… You'll see!

So: on the story!

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9.

"I am completely crazy," Harry berated himself as he stood behind a pillar in a long unused hangar. But inside, he knew. Severus had been right. He had to put an end to this war, once and for all. And yet, he thought he would be dead before he could raise his wand. His heart was beating in his throat. This waiting was the hardest thing he had ever done in his life.

He wasn't sure the Potions Master's plan would work, but he didn't have any better ideas, so he complied. But he was afraid. And this was so unfamiliar. The fear had left him, when those people he had cared about had left him. For a long time, he had thought life meant nothing to him. But now, standing and waiting for his end, he suddenly didn't want to die. Severus had told him so many things he had never known about the wizarding world, his distant relatives, the Weasleys, who still loved him, Hermione, who was deserted in that hospital room, Neville, who was still a blunderer and missed Harry whom he counted as his best friend, Hagrid, who had been broken since Harry's sudden disappearance, McGonagall, who had had so many quarrels with Dumbledore about the way the Headmaster had treated Harry… So many people, who cared for him, who wanted to see him again, and Harry now closed his eyes and thought about tea in Hagrid's hut with those horrid cakes, of Fred and George and their jokes, yes, he missed those jokes too.

Snape – no, Severus, he corrected himself – had told him that he had to return to Britain and put his things in order with Dumbledore too and discover the normal life under a disguise if he wanted – he would help him, he said.

"You are a fool, if you thought it would be over just because you left and waved good-bye, Potter. No one can forget the past. And you are not allowed to forget it. You have to face it, to deal with it and go on. You aren't a Gryffindor for nothing!"

Again, Harry couldn't decide whether Snape had insulted him or not, but it wasn't important. He knew the older man had been right. He had to face his demons, every demon, and if the day before he had been able to face the worst memories of his life, today Voldemort couldn't be so bad.

Sudden cracks sounded from the different parts of the hangar, and Harry was sure that there were Death Eaters outside the building too. He counted in himself. One, two… Eleven. Eleven cracks inside. One of them was Voldemort, he knew, he recognised his magical signature easily, just like the monster realised his – it was Harry's magic that had called the dark wizard to this place. His pulse quickened. This would be the end. To conquer his growing fear, he thought of his beloveds, people he cared, he had cared for.

His loveling and his son, Heather, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Sirius, Remus, his parents, Cedric and many others, who had been not so close to him, but were dead. He owed them. When he shut his eyes for a moment, he felt as if they were standing at his back supporting him, whispering encouraging words into his ears—

_'I love you, Harry. I always will,'_ his loveling's words.

_'I'm proud of you, son. You became a wonderful person,'_ his father said.

_'Don't forget that my love will always protect you,'_ his mother whispered.

_'You did it before, mate. You can do it now,'_ Harry almost saw Ron's grin.

_'You conjured a Patronus when you were thirteen. You'll do it,'_ it was Remus.

'Even if I hate that snivelling git, Harry, you have to know that he's right. You have to kill that monster, and you have to go on. You still have work to do in your life. We have time and we'll wait for you, and you mustn't hurry. Take your time. Live your life to the fullest. If you love us, you'll do that.'

"Sirius," Harry whispered and tears ran down his face. "I'm so sorry…"

'None of our deaths was your fault, Harry,' Harry swore he SAW Cedric standing next to him, leaning forward a little bit. 'Don't blame yourself. Go. Don't look back. Let us go.'

Harry nodded and peaked out of the shadow of the pillar. He saw nobody in the empty centre. The hangar seemed as empty as it had been a few minutes ago. The soft rustling of robes he had heard before ceased too.

It was time. Harry looked at the wand in his hand with worry. It wasn't his, and even if he could use it, it didn't really answer his will. But it didn't matter. He pointed the smooth stick at his throat.

"Sonorus," he whispered and knew that his voice would fill the whole hangar so that nobody could find out his precise place, and the black robes he wore made him like the other Death Eaters in the building. "You didn't come alone, Tom," he said, his voice thundered in the big, empty hangar.

Soon, another voice answered his.

"Why? Did you come alone?" it asked, taunting.

"Of course. I thought we could finally finish this stupid war. You know the prophecy, don't you?"

"You or me."

"Precisely. I'm willing to duel with you, but with one condition."

Mad laughter sounded in the silence.

"And what would be that condition?"

"Your servants will be not allowed to interfere in any way."

More laughter.

"Do you really want to die, Potter?"

"Swear or I leave you here."

"You can't leave without me following you."

"There's a Portkey to Hogwarts in my hand. If you don't accept my terms, I will return to Dumbledore and next time we meet I'll not be alone against you." It wasn't a trick: Severus's emergency Portkey was in his hand, and even thought he didn't want to use it he held it tight.

There was a long silence, and Harry could have sworn that he heard Voldemort's thoughts racing. What if Potter really had the Portkey? What if he would lose the chance to face the younger man alone? Dumbledore was too dangerous an adversary to risk a duel with the two of them. What if the whole situation was a trap?

"So?" Harry asked after a while.

"The place is surrounded. You won't receive any help from outside."

"I know that, Tom. Are you that afraid of me?"

A loud growl.

"Don't mock me, Potter. I'm not afraid of you, you know that. And don't call me Tom."

"Will we duel then? I give you ten seconds to decide."

Another annoyed growl, then a short bark.

"All right, I accept your condition."

"Swear, and I will believe it."

"You are quite a Slytherin, Potter."

"Swear on your and their lives, or no duel."

"But…"

"You have no time remaining. Do you swear or do I go?"

"I swear, Potter."

"Do it, then."

"I swear on my and their lives that my servants will not interfere in our duel in any way."

"Fine," Harry muttered the counter charm and silence fell on the hangar. Taking a deep breath to calm his stomach down, he slipped the black cloak off his shoulders, cast a Shielding Charm on himself and proceeded slowly towards the centre. He could just hope that he would survive the next minutes.

At his left, he saw some movement, and the Dark Lord's figure emerged from the shadows. Without a word, they both went to the centre and eased themselves into the traditional combat position.

"I know that you're alone, Potter. My servants searched the whole building."

Harry shrugged.

"Did you come to fight or to talk?"

"All right," the snake-like face furrowed into a deadly frown. "At three, then."

Harry nodded.

"One – two – three…"

"Stupefy!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

The two spells sounded in the same time, and both opponents moved to avoid the nearing lights.

"Expelliarmus!" suddenly, a third voice joined and Voldemort's wand flew out of his hand before he could move. "Grab his wand Potter, before…" but Snape couldn't continue as Death Eaters ran to his direction while another three sprinted toward Harry, who in the meantime grabbed Voldemort's wand. It felt so familiar – just like holding his own. So, Snape had been right about this too.

"Kill him!" Voldemort shrieked, and his servants lifted their wands to attack. Harry closed his eyes in dread. This wasn't an unexpected turn, and if Snape had been wrong in this part of the plan…

"Avada Kedavra!" Harry held his breath back.

Thump. And another one. And another.

Snape had been right, he thought as he opened his eyes.

The oath killed the interfering servants.

Apparently, Voldemort too arrived at the same conclusion, because he moved towards the shelter of the pillars using Harry's daze. But Harry was prepared.

"Ligamens,*" he whispered and pointed his wand to Voldemort before he could disappear. The next moment, he was inside his enemy, he was his enemy, he was Voldemort, and for a moment, he wanted to get out, to leave the whole situation behind, to leave the task of finishing off his enemy to others, he wasn't prepared, he wasn't ready to face… to face so much hatred and darkness, so much fear and desire to kill, and the darkness surrounded him, the invader, the uninvited guest, and Harry had to struggle not to flee – and not to fall, because the darkness was calling him, whispering to him tales about the long-needed rest, warmness and peace, and greatness and success and power and might over the world, it was like a whirlwind and Harry felt dazzled and his head spun even if it wasn't his head, or he didn't know that any more…

It was like a whirlpool, which tried to suck him, to swallow him. It enchanted him, it sang songs of greatness in his ears and Harry felt so lost.

"You can be great…"

"You can rule the world…"

"You will have the power to act…"

"You can change everything…"

"You can get revenge for your beloveds' deaths…"

"You will be stronger than Dumbledore…"

Harry's heart almost stopped. Revenge… Dumbledore would pay… He would make Dumbledore pay for killing his wife, his son, he would have the power!

The whirlpool was so near…

Revenge…

For Sirius, who was the first victim of the old man.

For Ron, who had been cheated and misled, who had just wanted to protect him. And Dumbledore had used him. He had just been a tool.

For Luna, Heather and his son.

He would kill Dumbledore. He would kill him, because he would have the power!

Revenge!

'Harry, no!' a voice cried from far away, it sounded suspiciously like Hermione. 'Remember!'

"Remember what?" Harry asked himself, the waves of pain and bitterness almost running over him. But he owed Hermione. He owed her to at least try to remember. 

'Go. Don't look back. Let us go.' They had been Cedric's words not long ago.

'Don't forget my love will always protect you.' His mother.

'I love you, Harry. I always will.' Heather.

And suddenly, another voice, an elderly voice sounded quietly, full of pain and regret in his thoughts.

'I cared about you too much. I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.'

And Harry understood. Dumbledore loved him. He had loved him more, than Harry could ever imagine. It had been this love that had tried to shield him, that tried to keep him away from Voldemort, from fear, pain and death. Dumbledore had closed him out to make his life easier: a young man's life who had suffered enough during his schooling, it hadn't been the old man's fault that Harry had felt frustrated and cheated. And he hadn't been sincere with Dumbledore, because he hadn't ever allowed himself to see how much the Headmaster loved him, and he had kept his marriage secret – and it had been this distrust that had killed Luna, Heather and ultimately, his son…

'I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.'

Harry now understood. It had been his fault…

'None of our deaths was your fault, Harry,' Cedric's voice interrupted his thoughts. 'Don't blame yourself.'

'…we fools who love…'

And Harry suddenly saw the light. Not the darkness, not the revenge.

He didn't want revenge, not any more.

"I love you all," he whispered and let this feeling pour out of his heart, through his mind, his whole being. "I love you all," he repeated as he thought of Hagrid, Neville, Hermione, the Weasleys, Dumbledore – and Snape. Yes, of Snape too. People, who were still alive. Who loved him and waited for him to return to them, and he knew that his place was somewhere out there, in their company, and smiled. "I'm coming," he said and stepped towards the light.

The moment his ex-fellows attacked him, Severus Apparated away and released a ragged breath. He couldn't do anything more for Potter: remaining in the same building wasn't safe for him any longer. The Death Eaters couldn't attack Potter, but Snape was a perfect target for them to occupy themselves while their master killed the young man, so he fled.

But it wasn't an easy decision even if Potter had agreed when they had planned the whole thing.

"I will be all right, Severus. You can't help me, but you can easily get yourself killed. I don't need you to divert my attention."

Oh, yes, the brat had been right, but then again, he was extremely nervous. He didn't want Harry to die. Not because of Voldemort, he didn't give a damn about his ex-master living or dying. But Harry had so many weaknesses, and he was concerned for the young man. Even if Harry was one of the lightest people he had ever met, the pain, the distrust and the fear were looming over his bright soul threatening to fall on him trapping him in the depths of the Dark Lord's soul and eventually killing him in the process, or worse.

Snape jumped to his feet and began to pace.

He should have told Harry that Dumbledore loved him. Or that even he, the bitter git cared for him. Or not… Well, but he should have talked about Dumbledore. It had been a very, very serious tactical error to forget about it. A perfect way for the Dark Lord to counter-attack.

He cursed inwardly.

The main reason he didn't want to talk about Dumbledore was that he didn't want to risk Harry's fragile internal peace. But still, it had been a mistake.

Snape closed his eyes, praying silently to himself. He prayed for Harry to have enough light, enough love, enough belief in his future to conquer.

Sighing, his trembling fingers pushed up his left sleeve, and he stared at the sign of his shame and failure pointedly. He hated it. He hated the Mark, and he hated everything it symbolised. He didn't want power and dark knowledge. The only thing he wanted was Harry to return, and to have a good dinner somewhere together with the brat… In Hogwarts, perhaps… if Potter didn't lose the blasted Portkey, they could have supper… oh, stop. In Britain it was already night, quite after curfew… But the house elves were always so happy to help, even in the middle of the night, and he could sleep in his own bed, finally… And he could transfigure his sofa for Potter…

CRACK. He jumped in surprise.

"Lost in thought, Severus?" a cheeky voice sounded behind him, and he growled out of habit.

"Potter."

For a moment, they both stood frozen looking at each other.

"I did it," Harry whispered and Severus looked at his forearm astonished.

The Mark was gone.

He ran a finger on the sensitive skin, waiting for the familiar wrinkles under his touch, but there was nothing. Not even that small unevenness he had felt in those years, when the Dark Lord had been in hiding. He felt nothing, just warm skin and the even heartbeat, when he pressed stronger not believing the first sensation that he was free, once and for all, free, free, as if his sins had been deleted, washed away, he was free…

"It's gone," he said timidly and looked at the young man. "He's dead…"

And they were hugging and slapping each other's back, crying unarticulated into the air.

"He's gone!"

"I did it!"

"We're free!"

"Voldie's dead!"

"You did it!"

"With your help, git!"

"You did it, stupid brat!"

"He's gone, gone, gone…"

"YES!"

And they cried and laughed like madmen, and yelled, and tears ran down their cheeks, until they both collapsed on the ground, breathless.

For long moments, they just looked at each other, and spoke up at the same time.

"I'm starving."

"Dumbledore loves you."

Harry nodded.

"I realised. Fortunately, it wasn't too late."

"It was my fault."

"Don't mention it. If it weren't for you, Voldemort would be still alive."

"It was you, who defeated him. By the way, how did he die?"

"I don't know precisely. I just felt that I love so many people, and they love me, and nobody blamed me for the past, and I saw the light, and the darkness just… disappeared. The next time I looked up I was in my body and Voldemort was nothing, but ashes. A pile of ashes."

Severus couldn't suppress a smile.

"You did well."

"With your help."

Severus first wanted to protest, but finally nodded.

"You know, Dumbledore once told me that darkness isn't but the lack of Light. Bringing Light in the Dark Lord's soul simply… made him disappear into nothingness."

"It's a pity Dumbledore didn't let you have the Defence position."

"I think he wanted me to be around permanently, not only for one year…"

The brat cracked a mischievous grin.

"Hey, Severus, wasn't you who cursed the position…?"

Such a cheek! He lifted an aristocratic eyebrow.

"Well, no, I think it was the Headmaster, who wanted to reserve that position for you."

Harry nodded slowly.

"Let's go home and ask him."

"It's midnight at home. I don't think the Headmaster is awake."

"Then it's time to wake him up," Harry stood up and reached his hand to help Severus up too. "It's time to tell him that the war is over. And that I'm not mad at him. Not any more."

Harry pulled out the Portkey from his pocket: it was a sock, like those Dobby liked to wear and reached out. Snape rolled his eyes and put a finger on it.

"Home," he whispered the password, and the next moment they were nowhere to be seen in the Australian desert.

***************************************************************************

*Ligare (Latin): to bind

Ligamens: to bind minds together

***************************************************************************

Next (and the Last): Wednesday. And I hope you're not mad at me and can understand WHY Harry is not mad at Dumbledore anymore.


	10. Chapter 10

10.

Harry was lost, Severus could see it perfectly. The young man was just standing in the half-empty party hall, alone, idly fidgeting with the medal of the Order of Merlin First Class in his hand, his eyes fixed on the absolutely dark window, unfocused. Lines of tiredness were all over his face, dark circles surrounded his eyes and the green orbs seemed dull and bloodshot.

The party slowly came to its end, everybody turned to go home, only the a few guests remained behind for a little chat with their old friends. There were some people who tried to involve Harry in their conversations, but the young man was too distant and closed so that after a while the most important person of the gathering stood alone and lost. And Severus couldn't help but sympathise with this loneliness, with this brave hearted and strong man, and suddenly could understand what Heather, his niece had seen in him, the thing even he hadn't noticed during their few friendly days, and most definitely he had never seen before those days: the enormous strength of humanity which made Harry able to overcome the monster, to forgive himself and Dumbledore, to go on… Well, he wasn't sure about the last one. He wasn't sure Harry knew how to go on anymore. Quite the contrary: the duty was fulfilled, the burden, which had been placed on those shoulders was finally gone – and there was nothing remaining. Nothing.

Harry – even though involuntarily – had sacrificed everything on the altar of this war: his parents, his friends, his lover and his son; his past and his future, and now, he didn't know what to do with his mere empty life. He remembered perfectly their conversation about their future plans, when he had asked the young man he had received a shockingly hollow answer to his question: _'I don't think I will live long enough to see it.'_

And yet, Harry had survived, he was the Boy-Who-Lived after all, but what for? Severus's heart clenched watching the lone figure, and suppressing his natural reluctance he put down his own champagne glass on a nearby table and walked to him.

Harry, hearing the footfalls, turned his head in his direction. Severus saw as the grave expression eased a little and a relief-like shine appeared in the tired eyes.

"You should go home. You look overtired," Severus said in an even tone, but the moment he uttered the words he knew he had been extremely stupid. Potter didn't have a home to go. But he didn't snap at Severus, and didn't break down, just the small signs of his previous relief disappeared without any trace from the friendly face leaving behind the heavy lines of nothingness and pain.

"Yeah," Harry groaned out. "I'd like to go home too."

With a sudden decision, Snape took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

"I think that for the time being you could move in with me. My cottage is big enough to accommodate two single men like us, and… and you're family after all…"

Harry jerked his head away, looking at the opposite side of the hall, "I don't need your pity," he said with forced calmness.

"I don't pity you, Harry," he replied promptly and carefully, he touched the tensed man's shoulder. "You don't need my pity, or our pity. You're strong enough. I just thought that… until you find out what to do with your life, you can live in Mortgate Lair. It," he gulped with difficulty, "it would have been Heather's heritage anyway… Your heritage."

Harry jerked his head back to him as fast as he had jerked it away previously.

"I don't need any heritages. I don't need Grimmaud Place, I don't need Godric's Hall, I don't need that Mortgate Lair either. I… I want them back. The people." Unshed tears twinkled in the greenness of his eyes. "I don't know what to do with my life," he whispered quickly as if it was something shameful. "My life is over. Over."

"Don't be a fool. It's not over," Snape said softly. "I want you to move in with me. It won't do any good for you to live alone again. And the same goes for me. Anyway, I was sincere when I told you that you are family. Since… Heather was like a daughter to me, I consider you a kind of son-in-law…"

"Harry, Severus," the Headmaster stepped up to them. "May I have a word with you?"

Severus swallowed hard and cast a worried look at his younger companion. He couldn't guess how Harry would react to the polite question. During the last hours, since they had arrived to Hogwarts (where everybody had been awake and known of the Dark Lord's demise) they had had no time to talk to Dumbledore except for a short summary of the fight and the previous days' events, and since then, they were awake, going from one party to another, chatting politely with Ministry workers and giving interviews to excited journalists and telling and re-telling one or another part of their adventures – leaving out the only important part: their conversations, and by now, both were dead on their feet.

And Harry had a well-based grudge against the old man. Oh, and he had a grudge too. Almost the same as Harry's.

"Of course, Albus," Harry said tiredly, but with impeccable courteousness. "Can we go to a calmer place?"

Dumbledore nodded and ushered them to follow him. Soon, they found themselves in a small room adjacent to the party hall, with two comfortable sofas and several fluffy armchairs. Harry almost collapsed in an armchair while Severus sat on one of the sofas carefully crossing his long legs and folding his arms over his chest.

"Please, be quick, Albus," he said coldly. "We are both tired."

Harry loosened the collar of his shirt and yawned as if he wanted to confirm Severus's words.

Dumbledore nodded and looked at Harry then at Severus with sad eyes.

"Even though I know saying sorry won't solve anything, I have to begin with apologising to both of you for… for those sacrifices you had to make in order to win this war. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Severus for letting you fall to the Dark Side and later using your death wish for our purposes…"

Severus buried his burning face in his hands. "You don't have to apologise, Albus. I understand."

"If I had had another choice…"

"I understand, Albus. Please," Severus's voice choked. He didn't want Albus to talk, to apologise about it. "It wasn't entirely your fault. I did my part in it as well. I wanted vengeance at any cost. I was intelligent enough to understand that the end doesn't justify the means. It wasn't your fault that my father was a jerk and that we were poor and I wanted to break free of that situation. You were not omnipotent. And I am glad I could help you." He looked up and furrowed his brows. "Let's call it even." His tone carried finality, and Dumbledore recognised it.

"I have no excuses in your case though, Harry," he said softly. "I-"

"Do you remember, Headmaster what you once told me? _'I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.'_ I couldn't understand you for a long time. I blamed you, and I hated you. But in the end, when I was in Voldemort's mind, in his darkness, I understood. I always thought you were somehow _more_ than us, mortals. More clever. More… omnipotent, as Severus said. But then, I understood. Your only fault was that you loved me too much, so that you put my safety _before _the war's outcome. You tried to protect me even when I didn't need that protection any more, when I should have faced Voldemort and finished this war somewhere after my Auror training was finished. I excelled Occlumency by that time, you knew, but you were afraid of losing me."

"My stupid protectiveness killed your family," Dumbledore interjected quietly.

"Martius Montague killed my family," Harry shook his head in exasperation. "You just wanted to protect Severus by giving out that piece of information and me, who was lying in the hospital. It was… my fault that I didn't trust you with the very important information about my marital status in such a delicate situation. I let my frustration about you rule over my decisions not understanding the possible consequences."

"I betrayed your trust…"

"If I had trusted you, I would have told you the truth about Heather and me."

Silence fell on them, and Severus looked at Harry in thought. Inside, he felt such huge pride in the young man's mature behaviour as if he was the father of this wonderful person – and not the man, who had made his life as miserable as he could for years. Suddenly, the loss of Heather hit him in his heart, but in a strange, almost twisted way: if she lived, he could really call Harry family. But now, Harry would possibly go on his way and the strange, but _good_ familiarity and almost-friendship between them would become past with no future, and he didn't want that.

These feelings were so alien that he missed the next part of Harry and Dumbledore's conversation.

Did he really want Harry to be his family? Or was it something sudden based on his joy over the Dark Lord's end, or on his tiredness, or on the last days' disturbing revelations, or on his love toward his sister and his niece? Or was it simply the fact that they were survivors of a terrible war with no family and real home to go to?

And the most important question: after everything that had happened between them was there any chance to becoming… what? Friends? Family?

"… and there's something more," Dumbledore's serious voice snapped Severus out of his thoughts. "But first of all I want to tell that you don't have to decide today and you can say no. Really."

Severus suddenly didn't like the newest turn of the other two's conversation. Neither the tone nor the old man's body language promised any good.

"I received a letter three months ago from your aunt."

Harry's face paled violently, and two burning patches appeared on his cheeks.

"Does… did something happen to them?" he asked fearfully.

"In a certain way, yes," Dumbledore sighed. "But you won't be happy to hear it…"

"Tell me," the young man said resolutely and leaned forward.

"Your cousin got married four years ago…"

"Yes, because his girlfriend turned to be pregnant with his kid. But as I know they left the child with aunt Petunia and they divorced after a year or so…"

"And your aunt wrote me that she and her husband would not raise up another wizard and asked me to remove the child from her care…"

"Wizard?" Harry looked confused.

"Apparently, the child did some accidental magic. I checked: he's on our school list. He will attend Hogwarts in eight years. He's indeed a wizard."

Severus saw Harry going even paler and shut his eyes tightly.

"What did you do?" he whispered in a broken voice.

"I couldn't do anything, Harry. I wrote back saying the same."

Harry nodded slowly.

"I see. I'll visit them…"

"But not today," Severus suddenly interrupted them. "We, three are famous for our wrong and hurried decisions. Now, we'll go to bed, sleep and tomorrow, we'll decide what to do."

"But…"

"I agree with Severus," Dumbledore stood up. "You both need some rest. Where will you stay, Harry?"

The young man turned his head to Severus questioningly. "I… if your offer is still…"

"Potter will stay with me, Albus."

Dumbledore cast a surprised look at them, but nodded.

"All right. And if you need anything…"

"We know where to find you, Albus."

After awakening, Harry didn't move for a long time. He mulled the previous day over and over in his mind, remembering the parties and the joyful faces of Neville, Tonks, McGonagall, and to his utter surprise the Weasleys; they all had been very kind to him, but they had disappeared somewhere after the third or fourth party leaving him not only alone, but deserted – and then, Snape had come and offered him a home, even if it was just a temporary home, he didn't have to be, to live alone for which he was extremely grateful. Not to mention that he hadn't even known where to go after the parties yesterday. He had felt lost. And Snape had come and it had felt so right. _'You are family.'_ It seemed that Snape had meant it seriously.

He had received very comfortable quarters to stay in, and even though Snape had told him that nobody had really lived in the house for months, it seemed home-like and was undoubtedly comfortable.

When he finally got up he immediately spotted the folded robes on the top of a chair next to his bed: bottle green robes and a pair of underpants – typical wizarding clothing, but it didn't disturb him: living with Heather had taught him many things about wizards' life and it felt just right to wear these robes and not muggle ones, even though he planned to go and talk to his aunt. He was a wizard and he wasn't ashamed of it.

In reality, he didn't know what he should do about Dudley's kid. It wasn't his responsibility, was it? He just wanted to talk to aunt Petunia, perhaps to scare them into treating the child properly…

Later, standing at the door of Privet Drive no. 4 he was still having dilemmas about his own motives, but Severus's presence gave him enough willpower to knock on the door.

His aunt answered the knock, looking the same as ever, slightly nervous about Harry's appearance in her door dressed improperly with one of his freak friends, but she didn't say a word, just ushered them in.

"I guess you came for the boy," she said ignoring the usual introductions of polite conversations. "You can take him with you whenever you want…"

"What?" Harry asked stunned. He didn't come _for_ the boy! He came _because of_ him! But his aunt didn't wait for his reaction.

"Jason!" she cried impatiently.

A door creaked upstairs and both Harry and Severus turned their heads up. Stepping out of Harry's old room stood a little boy, so different from the Dursleys: he was skinny, dark-haired and he had emerald green eyes, just like Harry's… he must have inherited them from his grandmother's side.

The kid eyed the two strangers warily, with a certain amount of trepidation in his eyes, and Harry suddenly felt that he couldn't leave him here.

The boy was just so like his son, or the way he had imagined his son that he couldn't resist.

And his name was Jason.

Jason.

"Jason?" he crouched down and reached his arms toward the frightened child. Next to him, his aunt opened her mouth, but Snape silenced her somehow and from the corner of his eyes, Harry saw the tall man looking at the kid almost as expectantly as Harry did. "Come on, kiddo."

The child took a tentative step forward, but he slipped on the polished surface of the stairs and fell.

The next moment Harry knelt at his side. The child didn't cry though, just looked at him frightened.

"I'm Harry," Harry said, his throat dry and narrow and helped the small kid to sit up.

They looked at each other intently.

"You have green eyes," the child spoke up suddenly. "I have green eyes too."

"Because we are related," Harry tried to smile.

"You're my dad?"

Harry froze. He looked at his older companion helplessly.

"Right. We'll take the boy with us. We'll take care of the documents ourselves, the only thing you have to do is to make your son write a declaration of renouncement and send it to us so that Potter can adopt the boy," Snape prompted making the woman jump in surprise.

"Is he my grandpa?" the kid whispered to Harry while moving closer unconsciously, and looked at Severus's severe form in slight terror.

The next moment the child was in his arms, Harry didn't even know how. But he held him tightly, tears running down his cheeks – not for the first time in the last week, savouring the feeling of holding a little child close to his heart. The kid didn't protest, but threw his small arms around Harry's neck, peering over his shoulders at the dark, tall man coming up the stairs with mild interest.

"Shhh, don't disturb him," the kid whispered to his supposed grandpa, "he's crying."

"Crying," Snape murmured in mock irritation and sat on the top stair just behind them. "We should go home. He can cry at home too."

But he didn't move.

They just sat in peace, the three of them.

It wasn't over.

Snape – _Severus _– was right. His life wasn't over.

It's just begun.

xxxxxxxxxx

The end


End file.
